My friend Jeni Bonaldo and I went to a Moth StorySLAM in the Bronx on Wednesday night.
It was a memorable occasion.
First, I won the StorySLAM, which always makes the night a lot better—my 62nd Moth StorySLAM victory and my third this year.
I told a story about a simple moment at a minor league baseball game last week when I came to understand and adjust my expectations for Charlie.
Jeni and I also drove to New York through lightning and thunderstorms rivaling any I have ever seen. Enormous lightning bolts struck the ground, and sheets of rain drove many cars to the shoulder to wait it out.
But not us! We engaged in some minor hydroplaning, and there were moments when I couldn’t see the lane markers, but we survived.
Sadly, Jeni kept missing the enormous lightning blasts because she was staring down at her fries rather than at Mother Nature’s wonders.
When we arrived in the city, the storm had ended, but the adventure did not stop. As I drove down a street, a man opened his car door just as I was driving by, striking my mirror with his door. I saw it happening at the very last moment, so I did not scream like Jeni when the two cars collided, but my heart admittedly skipped a beat as I wondered if I had hit a car or a human being.
Thankfully, it was a car-on-car interaction, and mine was fine. Mirrors are made to pivot when struck, which happened in this case.
A mile down the road, while stopped at a light, a man wandered across the road, appearing to speak to random people on the sidewalk and making them noticeably uncomfortable. “I hope he walks up to your side of the car and starts talking to you,” I said to Jeni, and then the man did exactly that.
I couldn’t stop laughing.
Another thunderstorm rolled in after we arrived at The Bronx Museum for Art. The storm was so violent that the fire alarm went off during one story because the thunder was so loud that it triggered sensors designed to detect explosions.
Windows positioned behind the storytellers made for an interesting sight:
Stories were told as a near-constant flash of lightning and crack of thunder punctuated their words.
As Jeni and I left the venue, the storm was relenting, but it was still pouring as we made our way to the car. Fire hydrants on the street were shooting water across the roads, presumably due to the enormous amounts of water dumped into the streets.
Along the way, in the car and in the venue, Jeni and I told each other stories. Hassled each other. Berated each other. Ate French fries. Laughed.
Jeni fouled up her order at McDonald’s, so I explained to the employee that it was okay. “We don’t take her out often, so she’s still learning,” I said. “But she needs to keep trying and stay positive!” Then I turned to Jeni and said, “Let’s go back home now, dear, and tell everyone how well you did.”
“I hate you,” Jeni said, but she doesn’t. Maybe.
We discussed the stories told at the slam in depth, discussed the philosophy of storytelling, and compared lists of the worst stories we’ve ever heard onstage. We discussed what we liked about the stories told that evening and how they could’ve been better. We shared stories of teaching, vacations, kids, and more.
You can get a lot done when you spend five or six hours in a car with someone.
Jeni researched the name for the condition by which a person never, ever bruises, despite being struck by cars, slammed head-first through windshields, punched, kicked, hit by a golf ball, hit in the face by a softball, knocked unconscious by a football, had ribs broken during a touch football game, and more.
That’s me. I’ve never bruised. Not even once.
The only explanation Jeni found during her cursory search online:
Thick skin.
I have thick skin. Both mentally and now physically.
I’ll ask my doctor for alternative theories when I see her next.
We met storytellers at the slam who have performed with me before. We met storytellers for the first time. We chatted with audience members, producers, and judges. We chatted with Elysha Dicks on the way home over the phone.
When I pulled into my driveway around 1:00 AM, the skies had finally cleared enough for an almost moon to peak through the clouds. It was beautiful. Clouds spilled past a white orb, casting an eerie glow on the lawn.
“I get to see this,” I thought, “because I am still up and out. Thank goodness.”
It was a night to remember.
As we were heading north out of the city through yet another raging thunderstorm, I told Jeni, “All of this is fine because we’ll be home soon, and instead of staying home, sitting on the couch, watching TV, and going to bed at a reasonable hour, we had a night we’ll never forget.”
She agreed.
Of course, she did. For all of her claims of nervousness, anxiety, and annoyance with me for encouraging her to step out of her comfort zone, Jeni Bonaldo is a courageous, outrageous, unabashed adventurer, ready to do hard, complicated, taxing, exhausting, and demanding things.
I’m so lucky to have her as a friend.
She’s even luckier to have me as a friend.
That will most certainly annoy her.
