The Company of Friends

New York

Monday, I met friends for lunch at MOMA. The dining room, all glass, chrome and black, with nouveau cuisine is one of the great outcomes of the new expansion. I arrived on 53rd Street off 5th Avenue, walked by Rodin's Balzac sculpture, and into the bustling room--a mix of out-of-towners with cylinders housing new posters from the exhibits, busy looking at maps to determine their next venue--and those of us ( new and old time ) New Yorkers who are connecting for a lunch date.

My friend, Yvonne, who has been in New York for six months, was leaving later in the day to return to Dublin to her work, her home, her family and friends. We met in a creative writing class at NYU in the Fall. Yvonne had been in New York for only days when she showed up, looking a bit like a doe in headlights, for the class of eight: six women and two men. We spent the whole Fall semester getting to know one another, often through our writing. Although the rule in writing classes is that you never assume a piece is autobiographical, I think THAT's fiction!

So, here we are in the picture above--Jane, single mother who loves photography and writes poignant stories about exotic places ( and men ); Bonnie who regaled us with her tales of her three husbands, and me, writing stories about growing up Catholic in Iowa in a time that seems as remote as Willa Cather's prairie.

And, of course, Yvonne, with her charm, grace, and wit, has been the glue to keep us together long after the last page was read in class on a cold day in December.

I've seldom met someone who I felt so connected to, felt so understood by, had so much fun with. She will be missed by all of us. "Remember," she said, raising her glass in a toast, "that you must get together at LEAST every six weeks." We'll try, Yvonne.

Dublin's lucky to have you.

M.C.