Living in the shadow of the Blue Hill Meteorological Observatory during the 1960s I was obsessed with the weather on the long chain of hills south of the Neponset River. Snow filled the winter woods, spring rain flooded the streams running across the overgrown farmland in the Neponset River, the bogs buzzed with mosquitoes in the sweltering summer, and soon the trees in New England sprouted colors through the autumn. Then it was winter. Winter was winter even here. Cold, but Northern Europe was colder and I was surprised, when Clover said she was planning to leave New York for Poland. No one from our scene traveled to Communist countries and I asked, "Poland?"
"Krakow is supposed to be beautiful and cheap."
"I've never been farther east than Bar Harbor." I visualized a coal-stained medieval city. I had thought about going to Paris in the late 1960s to find Françoise Hardy, the Yeh Yeh Girl, famed for her haunting love songs. Supposedly there was a plane flying lobsters to Paris in exchange for freshly baked croissants. I had roamed Logan Airport without finding it.
"I have never crossed the Atlantic. In truth, I've never seen the ocean."
"Not even here."
"I've never even been to Brooklyn." Clover came from Texas. Flat as far as the eye can see and more. "But I want to see Poland more. I have more than enough money after selling the door Jean-Michel Basquiat painted for me. Will you be my big brother?"
"Of course. Any Polish people give you a hard time, buy me a ticket and I'll save you. But you have Brad." Not really her brother anymore than I could be her brother. We were all strangers in this city. Families here tended to not come from birth.
"Not all queers are soft and Brad knows how to take care of himself. He certainly does look happy." Brad was earning good money dancing in a jockstrap at the Adonis Theater in Times Square. He was in love with one man, while fucking scores of men every month. No one was a punk as long as you were getting paid.
Brad's Mexican boyfriend beat him regularly. Jose was a surfer stranded in New York and frequently quoted the Tradewinds hit - NEW YORK'S A LONELY TOWN. "I hate the surf in New York."
Clover's packed bag rests by the apartment's doorless entrance. She pulled me into the bathroom. We had only made out. We had never made love. She wanted me to violate her. I couldn't do that even as pretend.
"This is your last chance."
"Maybe I'll met you on the other side of the Iron Curtain."
"Forget it." Clover was angry. "You have to leave. I have things to do."
I wanted to go with her, but whatever we were, we weren't anymore and she was headed to a country, where fields of wheat ran all the way to the Ural mountains. I was good in Geography.
ps 2026 Clover vanished completely that year. I did receive two post cards dated 1979; one from East Berlin. Another from Krakow. I have them to this day. She seemed happy from her writing. I have searched the Internet for years without finding a trace of her, but Clover is with me forever as are her postcards
