Wisely, I opted to take a half of a vacation day today. I'm not due in until 2 p.m. Here at home, reading other people's blogs, I realized that in my Black Party obsessiveness, March 21st blew right by me.

March 21st is a day that leaves me thinking of my sister. Her birthday was at the opposite side of the calendar, September 21st, but for some reason, the day was always poignant for me. When both of us worked at Mother's Restaurant in New Hope, Pennsylvania (don't visit on my account, this was two decades ago, and things have doubtless changed there), we worked with this guy named Steven. Steven was Korean, who had been adopted as a baby by American parents. He came with no birth records, so no one had any idea what his birthday was. His parents allowed him to choose a day on which to celebrate his birthday, and he picked March 21st, the first day of Spring.

My sister was married on March 21st. Let me explain what I mean by 'married.' She had met this man, an Algerian living here illegally. He was much younger. My sister sort of decided that she would marry him. He never said he loved her. I was given the opportunity to meet him before the wedding, and in this I was alone among my family members. We met at the Sixteenth Street Bar and Grill in Philadelphia. It was very weird. I sort of felt that in some ancient Mediterranean culture kind of way I was giving my sister away in marriage, negotiating on the part of my family, as a male representative. Because his English was not very good, we spoke in French. My sister was sitting right there at the table, but her french was limited. I grilled him on his background, beliefs, jobs, him being okay with me being a homo, and on and on. Finally, and I have no idea what prompted this, but I said, "My sister is a very caring person, she has a big heart, she is a very good person. If you do anything to hurt her, I will kill you."

I was barely out of high school at that point. I wonder if he remembers that conversation. He hurt her, but only in the way that two people who are married to each other inevitably hurt each other. It turns out that he was in it for the green card, at one point he jumped out of a car my sister was driving while it was moving shouting, "No! No! Our marriage is a fake!"

But I think that on balance, he came to love her. He certainly did his best to take care of her during the illness at the end of her life. But, there's still ambiguity there. He benefitted handsomely from her will, and although they were in the process of getting divorced, it was not finalized by the time she died.

They were married on March 21st. March 21st is the Vernal Equinox, day and night are of equal length. Nature is in equipoise: Winter behind us; Spring before us, but March 21st is neither. Everything will be new, it's just a matter of time. We have survived another dark, cold winter.

I think my sister chose that night for her wedding because that's how she saw her life: it had been a winter. The men she had had relationships with had been boys in men's bodies. She took care of them, scolded them, picked up after them. Now, she would be married. There would just be The One Man who was hers. Everything would be new.

It was a beautiful Spring day in Bucks County. The earth made sucking sounds as the melting snow was absorbed. Crocuses were blooming, and a few daffodils. She had been living with a guy named Gary, a shame-ridden gay alcoholic pilot, still morning the death by AIDS of the love of his life, Glenn. Kathy slept in Glenn's room. She was forbidden to remove any of Glenn's belongings, including his collection of porn magazines under the bed and his flannel shirts hung in the closet. Gary's house was a 1740 federal house, which he had renovated extensively and onto which he had built a vast addition. They were married by the mayor of New Hope. Kathy did all the work for the wedding, from making all the food and the invitations to arranging the flowers to cleaning the house. The wedding and reception took place there, at Gary's house. They bled into each other. One queen at the wedding commented, "I can't remember ever being at a wedding where you could hear the clinking of ice in cocktail glasses while the vows were exchanged."

My parents met their son-in-law on the day of the wedding. He subsequently glommed onto them, calling them 'Mommie' and 'Daddie.' He's still in the picture, although less so. They met as I was headed upstairs with him to help him get dressed. He would be wearing a borrowed suit, and didn't know how to tie a necktie. He was gorgeous naked. There I was, oogling the man (only a few years older than I, and younger than my sister by about the same span of time) that was soon to become my brother-in-law.

And my sister's life after that was new, totally transformed, although it was not all Springtime and roses. She sank deeper and deeper into alcoholism and bad health. She and her husband had terrific problems. Then, the final illness, and her death.

April is the cruellest month, breeding  
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing  
Memory and desire, stirring  
Dull roots with spring rain.  
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding  
A little life with dried tubers.