ON A SATURDAY IN late January, when the days were the shortest, I decided to treat myself to matzo ball soup at the Manhattan Deli. The sky was a dark blue and the air was bitter. The mountains surrounding Boulder looked cruel to me.
I sat down in a black vinyl booth, and when the soup came, I spooned the soft matzo ball into my mouth. The warm chicken broth felt comforting; I was lonely.
After I finished the soup, I paid the bill at the counter, popped a white mint into my mouth, and headed home. Halfway there, I turned around suddenly and walked straight to the meditation hall Eugene had brought me to, climbed the long stairs, and picked up the application to take refuge vows. As I wrote “Nell Schwartz” across the top lines, “Banana Rose” blinked in hot pink lights in front of my eyes. “How long have you been meditating?” the application asked. I wrote, “Forever.” The form completed, I slipped it into the top slot of a wooden box, then walked downstairs and out into the glaring sunlight.
Eugene became excited when, that night, I told him what I had done. “Why don’t I do it, too?” he said, and the next day he signed up. We both were officially becoming Buddhists.
The ceremony was set for the following Wednesday night. I was to meet Eugene at eight o’clock and he would save me a sitting cushion.
That Wednesday at lunch I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I took a half day off from work and drove out to Gold Hill and through the woods.
Abraham, Isaac, Jacob. Rachel, Esther, Sara, Rebekah. The trees were empty of leaves. I looked up and saw Stars of David twinkling from the branches. King Saul, King Solomon, Grandpa Samuel, Uncle Morris, Cousin Sarah. I wasn’t a Buddhist. I was lonely.
I arrived back at the old lady’s at 7:30 in the evening. Changing slowly, I knew I’d be late. I wanted to miss the ceremony.
As the last bells were being rung, I slipped into a back seat in the audience.
At the reception that followed, I found Eugene and tapped him on the shoulder. He was wearing a navy suit from the Salvation Army.
He swirled around. “Where were you? I saved a place and everything.”
“Congratulations.” I paused. I looked down at my hands. “Neon—I mean, Eugene—I couldn’t do it.” I looked up. “I’m a Jew. I’m not sure what that means, but that’s what I am.”
He was quiet for a moment. I could see he was thinking, So what? I am too. Then his face changed and he smiled. “Look at my new name.” He unrolled a small scroll. “Great Heart Bird,” it read.
I was delighted. “Your dream told you this.”
“Yeah.” It dawned on him. He had forgotten his dream.
That night, I walked home alone. Eugene went out with other initiates to celebrate. I lay in bed for a long time. Then I turned over and reached for the phone. I dialed 612-555-4063 and waited for someone to answer. It was past midnight.
“Hello?” I heard after the fifth ring.
“Hi, did I wake you?” I wondered if anyone was sleeping next to him.
“Nell?” Gauguin was surprised. I had woken him from a deep sleep. I started to cry. “Nell! I miss you. Come. Come and lie next to me.”