On the second Saturday of May, I fell asleep within several hours of noon in a suburban neighborhood in Eastern Queens. I don’t remember if the nap preceded or followed chomping down a hard-boiled egg salad, streaming a press conference confirming the winner of Guyana’s presidential elections, or cajoling Dawnique into walking around her neighborhood with me. I just know that at some point our busy bodies crashed.
Neither Dawnique nor I have a strong affinity for languishing. Since college, she’s been photographed in the White House, advised Michelle Obama, shook hands with dignitaries at the UN General Assembly multiple times, and delivered a speech in a second language in front of a former British prime minister. When she goes, she dons colorful and stylish professional dresses, wears her handbag with confidence and strolls in heels with gusto. If only.
Outside of those I share with Dawnique, few phone conversations elicit the breadth of emotion and volume. We squabble and tease. We provoke and roar.* We predictably attempt to get under the skin of each other—but in the name of honesty**—and we more comfortably than most rattle off our accomplishments.
All of that was true, that second Saturday in May. But secure in our superior status to that of the other person, we slept fast and soundly.
* After I told Dawnique that I would be dedicating my first blog post to her, I asked for a photo. True to form, she emailed me my absolute least favorite photo of us (pictured above, along with our friend Josephine), and then before I even had a chance to upload it, inquired about where she could find my eulogy to her.
**Dawnique, I’m about 100 words over my word count for this series so feel SPECIAL.