Unless something really good or really bad happens
There are certain people out there who you become friends with solely due to circumstantial factors of your intertwined lives at the time of meeting: work, geographic location, age, similar hobbies, mutual circles etc. Folks that wouldn’t necessarily be your first-choice friend picks in most ‘normal’ scenarios but get the job done for a temporary ally. My Monhegan friend Mark however, is not one of these people. I think it’s now safe to say that had I bumped into Mark in a Parisian cafe, a punk concert in New York, a pie shop in Arizona, or perhaps another inn on another remote island––we would still seek each other out as close companions.
Though I like to think of it as something only unique to Mark and I’s first introduction, Mark is in fact the initial person that everyone who joins the Monhegan House crew meets fresh off the ferry. And for good reason. Despite the fact that it’s literally his job to welcome everybody to the island, Mark has a certain je ne sais quoi when it comes to making a newbie feel comfortably at home away from home. He’s a listener before anything else, and eager to learn, remember, and draw connections to the little hobbies, fun facts, quirks, and personality traits that he draws from us all. He often later calls on such allusions in his many handwritten cards, thoughtful gifts, and homemade dishes (at least for me anyway, maybe I’m just special, but I rather think he’s just incredibly generous to most everybody).
Mark was the first person to invite to me to anything out here, and thus the first person to take a chance on me as a potential acquaintance fit for social outings and worthy of one-on-one conversation. You may remember me mentioning an extravagant dinner at Angela and Travis’ in a previous blog during the beginning of the season, this was that invitation. I was so nervous at the time. I remember panicking over my outfit and greasy hair among other anxieties regarding how I would possibly keep up at a four-course sit-down dinner amongst those who surpassed me in age, life experience, and island life knowledge. Naturally though, Mark eased my worries as soon as I set foot in the door. Between his cringe-worthy puns and subtle winks at me across the dinner table, I felt completely calm, like I was dining alongside an old friend––a feeling that would only convince me more and more down the line that Mark and I were somehow besties in another life too.
We redid the whole Angela/Travis dinner party again last week to really signify the beginning and end of a wonderful season. Mark of course donated his entire day off to purchasing, preparing, and cooking a five-course meal which consisted of local tomatoes and shrimp, New Orleans-style rice and red beans, two different kinds of cornbread: one a honey wheat, the other a jalapeño and herb, seafood gumbo, and a carrot cake with maple frosting. Props to Angela for the cornbread and carrot cake (both of which I went back for seconds and thirds). We were even supposed to have a lobster etouffee, but opted to forgo the appetizer given how much food and little stomach space we each had.
I mention all of this not to further inflate Mark's culinary ego, but rather to demonstrate the kind of commitment and dedication he has for quality, and lack of need for repayment through thanks or proper recognition. Whether it be quality time, quality baguettes, quality music, quality conversations, quality flowers, quality fruit… Mark puts meaning and effort into everything he interacts with and expects virtually nothing in return. Sometimes his generosity backfires on him as he’s often pinned the token ‘nice guy’ who many promise would be their “number one pick if it weren’t for [insert name of so and so’s current person of interest].” But he’s always my first choice. Whatever that’s worth anyway.
Mark cares about the little things, sometimes too much. He overthinks text messages and agonizes over the thought of a mediocre hangout (which is never the case). I imagine the inside of his brain is in a constant state of mayhem, charming mayhem mind you, but still mayhem. It probably resembles an understaffed kitchen or office space with employees running around like headless chickens trying to complete his various daily functions: smile here, make a joke there, wear this, think about that, etc.
Between May and September, Mark and I have thrown together countless charcuterie boards, impromptu picnics, truck-bed cheeky-beer sunsets, Island Inn dinners and French movie viewings, but nothing compares to our weekly (and sometimes every-other-daily) Pét Nat nights.
Allow me to paint a picture.
After clocking out of work, we reconvene with a go-bag consisting of a yoga mat to sit on, glasses (which occasionally get smashed depending on the kind of day we’ve had), a speaker and pre-made playlist (we’ve perfected a French compilation ranging from classic Edith Piaf to contemporary Stromae and everything in between), and of course Pét Nat (among another bottle of wine or couple of light beers). Pét Nat is short for pétillant naturel. This one in particular is a light pink hue, but a bit sweeter than a sparkling rosé. Maybe it’s the flowery raspberry notes, the subtle carbonation, or the 9.5 ABV, but Mark and I have deemed the bottle a single serving drink. In the beginning of the season we went to the same spot off of Burnthead religiously to host our weekly outings, but we’ve since experimented around the island with different sunset locations such as the Wyeth Bench, Cabot Cove, the Lighthouse, down by the Wharf, etc.
After rolling out the mat, plopping down, cracking a bottle, and hitting play on the French music, the unwinding begins.
From there, the evening’s conversation carries out much as you would imagine: unloading about the work week, voicing any recent personal dramas, gossip heard at the docks and so on. But slowly as we begin to really take in the magnificent scenery around us and sink into the bubbles of Pét Nat that trickle down our throats, topics shift to more meaningful subject matter that takes us both out of the context of Monhegan entirely. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we suddenly begin to discuss complex philosophies or haughty art theory, it’s just that we get comfortable in one another’s company and reveal a bit more of ourselves through personal stories and memories. I love when Mark talks about his travel adventures or cycling tours. He never tells the obvious tales of perfect lunches on the Eiffel Tower lawn or heroic roadside escapades, in fact his stories are usually quite the opposite. Often they’re narratives about quasi-depressing periods of life, questionable nights on the town, or ironic language barriers––sometimes disastrous plans that went awry to the point of hilarity. Between his gesticulations, changing accents for character dialogue and candid bouts of uncontrolled laughter, it’s impossible to disengage from what he’s saying. A gifted storyteller. Regardless of the story I always think about how Mark should really write a book about his life (and as it turns out he too shares in that aspiration!). I could see him putting together an autobiography of vignettes throughout the various stages of existence that have made him the person I know now. Plus he’s just a fantastic writer which he himself would never admit, but check out his blog and see for yourself.
Mark and I are a self-described odd coupling of friends. Not everybody understands how or why we seem to click so well, and given the stigmatization behind male-female platonic relationships, particularly with an age difference, I can’t blame them. Sometimes we hold hands or sleep on Whitehead side-by-side which gets us our fair share of head turns and misunderstandings. But I like to think Mark and I have an interspecies friendship: an unexpected bond formed between animals of different species where each organism benefits from the other by means of communication, sociality, protection, etc. Ever seen those fluff news stories about dogs chumming it up with birds or rabbits coexisting with deer? That’s what I’m talking about.
Unlike the majority of temporary coworkers and friends that you collect throughout decades of moving around and changing life pursuits, Mark and I have made plans to do big things together before meeting again back on Monhegan. Some intertwined travel in both France and Mexico are on the docket for Mark, Olivia, and I this winter/spring and I have no doubt in my mind that it all will come together. Our highly anticipated daydreams of cooking in Nice and sunset cocktails on the beaches of Puerto Vallarta will soon be reality. I knew very early on that Mark would be a part of my life beyond this island, and now I’m sure of it.
So, in the wise words of my very good friend Mark, (and speaking directly to him at this point seeing as he now reads and teases me about the blog) unless something really good or really bad happens, same time/same place next year?
Eternal thanks for being a genuinely fantastic person and an even better friend. You’re a wonderful reminder that there are indeed good people left out there. I don’t think (in fact I know) I could’ve done this season without you.
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