I met Leah at an after-hours party in an AUR apartment on Burlington Street in April 2002. Over the course of that spring and summer I re-met her a number of times at bars and house parties. My memories of Leah and that summer in general are a bit hazy, due in part to my consumption beer and also because I was drinking a lot of beer. But then, we all were.

But as time went on and Leah became a fixture in my social circle (or, more accurately, I became a fixture in hers) I noticed something: I never didn’t have fun when she was around. When she’d arrive at a party or enter a room I felt myself at once relaxing and perking up because it meant things were about to get more interesting, whether it meant that we were headed to the Deadwood, or that approximately three dozen of us were going to hang out on her front porch (“Portugal”) and empty several cases of PBR, or maybe sit around her kitchen table drinking rum & cokes (or, as she liked to sing, “People all over the world, join hands / start a rum train, rum train”). One thing was for sure: I was going to laugh my ass off.

Maybe we don’t rage quite as hard as we did four years ago—which is probably, ultimately, a good thing—but I still feel relieved, and reassured, when I see Leah appear on the scene. A couple years ago, when Jaret began appearing with her, it was as if the fun and the goodwill had been doubled. Maybe even quadrupled.

Photo by Joe

Congratulations, you two. Join hands, start a rum train, etc.

(my Flickr set)