A Cross-Generational Friendship

One of the amazing things that I miss about living in New York City is the exposure to the abundant communities.

I found a connection to a warm, inviting community in one an unlikely place. My Gym.

I had been a routine member for about 7-years and appreciated its unpretentiousness (many gyms are posh, upscale and have different “social scenes”). I chose my neighborhood gym, the YMCA, for it’s diversity, warmth and openness—it’s liberal and unlike the stereotype, it’s a place where people from all faiths aren’t exposed to proselytizing. Members feel the sense of community and diversity in their group fitness classes. To this day, some of my closest friendships emerged from those fitness classes that I joined many years ago.

One of the hallmarks of my life “at the Y,” was a belly-dancing class. The instructor was an under-study of the globe-trotting, professional dance troupe, “The Bellydance Superstars” and each Tuesday and Sunday a group of 30 women ages 18-70 would pack into the mirrored dance studio to shimmy, shake and laugh. It was a place where it was o.k. to have a tummy that giggles or “junk in the trunk” to boot. All curves, shapes and sizes were respected. It encouraged all of us to be comfortable in our own skin—total body acceptance.

One of the regulars in class was E. E was a senior. She was petite who always wore frilly, multi-colored skirts and black stockings. Her gregarious laugh emanated from her bright, red lipstick mouth. E was always in upbeat spirits and ready to dance. Several decades ago, she moved from Brazil to live close to her sister. For a while, they lived together in an Upper West Side apartment until E met her husband, S.

E and S’s courtship is adorable. For those who say location is everything- this romance proves that case. E and S met because they both lived in the same apartment building. It was E’s sister who encouraged her to begin a friendship with the sweet and polite, American gentleman living downstairs. Their relationship blossomed and E & S were married a short while thereafter. They were an inter-racial couple, but really complimented each other completely.

E and S were fixtures at the gym and worked out daily. S would stand by the door and peer into the window patiently watching his wife and the other women dance across the floor learning a new Middle-Eastern dance routine. He was kind and thoughtful.

When the hour class ended, he would shuffle inside and talk to each of the ladies as they exited. He’d embrace his wife and they’d link arms. I always admired how they loved each other – the two epitomizing companionship.  To me, they were a living example of how love truly can transcend culture and race.

The last time I went to the gym and shared the news that I was leaving the New York to live in Africa, S congratulated me for my adventurous spirit. S gave me a hug and told me to keep in touch, but unlike trite pleasantries, he actually meant it.

It was a surprising friendship because we became email pen-pals—corresponding across the oceans and continents.

In my first weeks in Kenya, he told me that he “did some research on Nairobi and read about the Al-Shaabab, piracy, droughts and famine” and was concerned. Later, he shared his electronic subscription to the New York Times because he wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t miss a beat with American news. He felt it was his duty to give me an update with the latest gossip at the gym and his opinions of the presidential candidates.

In each of his emails, he would always ask me questions and encourage me to send photos (and even offered to mail me a camera if I didn’t have one).  

For a man born in the early 1940s, he wasn’t afraid of technology. S got the equipment to learn how skype, but had some trouble understanding how it worked.

Like his wife, he was always inquisitive and positive. Maybe that’s why they were a complimentary pair.

This summer, he said he was nervous about his impending retirement and shared his mixed feelings about the change.

Lately, over the last 7 weeks, I emailed him, but never received a response. Then, today, an unexpected note from E landed in my inbox.

“In Heaven with God” wrote the subject line. My heart sank as tears welled up under my eyelids.

I opened the email to read that at the end of September, S unexpectedly passed away in his sleep.

E said she’d call me later, but that I should also look for his online obituary. S “was a gentle and generous man with a wry sense of humor. And he will be deeply missed by all who knew him.” This is the truth, I thought when I read the obituary announcement on the New York Times and Santa Barbara Independent websites.   

A few hours later, my phone rang. It was E calling from New York using a phone card. I was touched that she made such an effort.

Her thick accent was barely audible as she sobbed recanting the story. In the weeks that passed, she said she couldn’t push herself to reply to emails, but she knew she had to eventually tell me.

E said she is trying to resume her regular schedule by going to the gym, but it took her over 3 weeks return to her old routine. The memories.  She says she is thankful that her sister is available to spend time and support her as she grieves.

We made plans to talk tomorrow before she goes to work, but before she hung up, she asked me if and when I’d be visiting New York sometime soon.