Twittering

Thanksgiving with our Costa Rican Family

        “How many for dinner,” the host asked. The restaurant overlooked the Pacific Ocean. The sun had slipped below the horizon, gentle glows of pink and amber filter through the sky, ending the evening with a light show.
        “Fourteen,” Edgar’s Puerto Rican accent adds a touch of romance to the setting.
        “It’s sixteen, actually,” I said. “Dan and Sean had to change shoes and are following just a few minutes behind.”
        Cabanas covered a hill in the jungle. At night, we slept under a mosquito net, the doors and windows open, a gentle breeze generated by the ceiling fan. In the afternoon, we rocked in the warm tropical breeze drifting through La Plantacion, the small resort catering to gay men we called home for three days in Manuel Antonio.
        The rooms were booked with couples from around the country. Men from Washington DC, Denver, Rhode Island, and Vancouver, British Columbia, hung out by the pool during the day, or hiked down to the Pacific Ocean from the bluff the resort sits on, to body surfed for hours, or even ventured off together for a group tour. Some, like us, had traveled to Costa Rica for a short vacation and coincidentally stumbled on La Plantacion. Others had traveled in the past the week before Thanksgiving, meeting up with a core group of people, some of whom have been vacationing in Costa Rica for several years now.
        One day, we headed out with three other couples on a canopy zip line tour. Similar to our previous canopy hiking tour earlier in the week, the rainy season was still upon us, and it rained like monkeys and toucans the entire time we were dangling in the trees. Unlike the previous tour, this one involved flying through the treetops on cables, repelling down trees, and finally, soaring over a river to the final platform.
        On the evening before we left, we headed out for dinner together, sixteen guys, new friends, walked into a restaurant looking for an impromptu dinner party.
        “Well then, it’s a party of sixteen,” Edgar corrected.
        We sat at a table, eight couples long. Couples sat across from each other, our conversations covering politics, relationships, coming out stories, families, Lifetime Television, and home décor.
        When cocktails had been served, I suggested to Edgar, the alpha male of the group, “We need a toast.”


        “What should we toast?” he asked.
        “Tony is turning forty.”
        “Ah, yes. And he doesn’t look a day over twenty-nine. And Bill and Rick have been together for twenty-seven years. Can you believe that? Twenty-seven years! Such an inspiration.”
        “We should toast now before we have too much alcohol that we don’t remember what we’re toasting.”
        Edgar stood up, water glass in hand, he clinked it with his knife, bringing the entire restaurant to a standstill.
        Spotlight on Edgar, he broke down laughing.
        “Composure,” I said. “Regain your composure!”
        He tried to stop laughing, looking to the restaurant that was all eyes. “Okay, Composure.” He wiped is brow. “Gentleman, we have a few occasions to celebrate tonight. First, to new friends and being together. Second, Tony is celebrating his fortieth birthday.” The table cheered. “And he still looks like a spring chicken. And third, Bill and Rick have been together for twenty-seven years, and we congratulate them as they are an inspiration to use all!”
        We raised our glasses, the table erupting into a cheer.
        “Edgar,” I said as he sat down. “I think someone should give a speech.”
        Tony kicked me under the table, filling my shins with the consequential pain of putting him on the spot.
        “Oh yes, a speech,” Edgar said. He turned to the table. “Speech! Speech!”
        A table of gay men yelled, “Speech” in unison.
        Bill stood up, his silver gray hair sparkled in the light. He waved our exuberance down, presenting an air of calming of authority. “I really believe we are more than friends here tonight. We are family here at this table, because we have shared a common path in life. This week, we are lucky to have enjoyed each other during this moment when our paths intersect, but I know we will all stay in touch, we will support each other, we will celebrate each other, and our paths will cross again.”
        Bill’s toast is sobering. We raise our glasses again, savoring his message like fine wine, letting the flavor of his words sink in.