64 of 210 : King Peter

I’m told his wealth is nearly inconceivable. He owned a large island that somehow became a sovereign territory, and Peter set up a government there and proclaimed himself king. He gave Paul’s parents several cases of the celebrated 1970 vintage Dom Perignon, and I had three glasses one lovely afternoon.

63 of 210 : Paul

He was a member of the Lurkers’ Society, and his family was . . . “comfortable.” One Gatsby-esque Sunday afternoon featured croquet and champagne, with everyone dressed in white. For graduation, his parents gave us bottles of exceedingly rare Kentucky Bourbon. One day a few years later, Paul simply—and quite mysteriously—disappeared.

62 of 210 : Kathleen

When I met her she was still Kathleen, not Kate, as newer friends call her. The magic began one evening (at a dive that inexplicably served the best pizza in the world) when I asked her, in front of her husband, if he were well hung. And she told me.

61 of 210 : Tim

Soul of a poet, mind of a philosopher. Brilliant artist, especially his watercolors. Great cook; his wondrous pancakes are unspeakably delicious. Very easy on the eyes. Athletic. Emotionally tender, but intellectually rigorous. Excellent musician. Superb sense of humor. Disciplined yet very laid back. And straight, damn it all to Hell.

60 of 210 : Wayne

He’s usually found in positions of leadership, but his style is low-key, even subtle. He’s like that just sitting around talking with friends: he evinces a quiet strength but never tries to control the conversation, and his sense of humor is keen and warm-hearted. I miss his face. A lot.

59 of 210 : Susan

Those eyes. So full of kindness. Strength, certainly, and wisdom. And just a soupçon of mischief. She’s a caring and generous mother, always accepting and laughing, even in difficult circumstances. The lovely evenings spent in spirited conversation with friends old and new continue to sustain me today, a decade later.

58 of 210 : Sue

Was “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” her favorite phrase, or just our favorite saying about her? If she didn’t want something to happen, it simply didn’t. Yet she was the most magnanimous of hosts, and when she smiled, there was no warmer place in the world to be.

57 of 210 : Bill

I’m not sure which of us came up with the idea of discussing women’s erotica, but it seemed a natural fit after Bill’s infamous pasta puttanesca, the culinary equivalent of sex. Was it the anchovies? The capers, the peppers, the garlic? Or the amazing warmth and hospitality of that table?

56 of 210 : Ramberto

He had more ego than brains, more charm than ethics, more passion than good sense, and more natural enthusiasm than nearly anyone (he played Backgammon as if it were a contact sport). So why did he have to go and screw up really wonderful friendships by telling unbelievable, dastardly lies?

55 of 210 : Harvey

While I enjoyed the film of Torch Song Trilogy, I think the play was better. But I’m biased: I got to meet Mr. Fierstein after the performance. He was wearing bunny slippers, and he signed a copy of the script for me. He even put bunny ears in his signature.

54 of 210 : The Neighbor’s Son

One day, when I was five (such youthful exuberance!), I ventured out into the world hoping to have an adventure. In the woods behind my house I encountered a stranger, the adult son of a neighbor, who molested me; my childhood disappeared that day. Not all adventures are happy ones.

53 of 210 : Mrs. Seacrest

The Seacrests lived across the street from the Witch, and were the only people in our neighborhood who had a pool (and an in-ground pool at that). Kind, capable Mrs. S. gave swimming lessons to all the kids, and had the most prominent moustache I’ve ever seen on a woman.

52 of 210 : The Witch

In our neighborhood stood a dark, brooding house. Its haunted, reclusive occupant was a crone with wild hair, a dead eye, and (we were certain) bones in her basement. Now I wonder if she was just a lonely old lady whose family never visited, and wish I had befriended her.

51 of 210 : Kraig

I outed him by mistake to a mutual friend, and he didn’t speak to me for three months. Now he lives openly with his Brazilian boyfriend, Augie, and works on global TB issues. We both relish websites that poke fun at religion gone amok. Some favorites: 1 2 3 4

50 of 210 : Ken

He was killed in a horrific car accident. The funeral was a lugubrious Catholic affair—the precise opposite of what Ken would have wanted. When the priest said the Sanctus and the acolytes rang their little bells, I distinctly heard Ken’s voice in my ear, saying, “Ice cream! Ice cream!”

49 of 210 : The Palmists

For a lark, Les and I stopped in for a $5 reading. The mother told me I had many regrets, though I had none, at the time. The daughter told Les that someone had put a curse on her. Nope. Though one was certainly placed on the palmists that night.

48 of 210 : Miss Connie

When I was five, I was on Romper Room. Twice. Miss Connie was sweet as could be. I, on the other hand, was a pious little thing who told her, loudly, that she wasn’t saying the Grace before our milk-and-cookies properly, and that Jesus wasn’t going to hear her prayer.

47 of 210 : Mr. Washburn

After lab one day, our ninth-grade science teacher let us go out onto the balcony for a breather (our school overlooked the Caribbean). And there it was: a massive waterspout, just offshore. I was awestruck, if for no other reason than I had dreamt that precise scenario the night before.

46 of 210 : Philip

There is no Philip; there is only “Philip,” the body, the corporate identity for a whole passel of multiples. Instead there is Yvette, the lesbian, or Bob, the accounting whiz, or the teacher, or the frightened child. Several of them serve as husband and father. But there is no Philip.

45 of 210 : Abcde

I know of a girl named Placenta (her mother heard the word in the hospital—thought it sounded pretty), and another named VulvaMae. Now a friend reports that a woman in Philly has named her newborn son “Abcde.” Pronounced AB-suh-dee. “So he'll always know how to spell it,” she explains.

44 of 210 : Vsande

She smokes like a chimney, but won’t eat meat or use a/c, even in Florida summers, because it’s unhealthy. She’s politically progressive, but runs a porn website. And you just know her mouth will get her killed one day. I christened her “Reality’s Bitch,” and she wears the moniker proudly.

43 of 210 : Adrianne

She spends her winters planning extravagant galas, her summers watching the Big Brother live feeds, her days shopping for rare antiques on eBay, and her evenings watching Buffy reruns. Al Hirschfeld even drew her portait when she was a teenager. She’s the Pink Princess, and I am her unworthy servant.

42 of 210 : Charles

His carefully crafted online persona is “LCM, Centre of the Known Universe,” an outrageous disco diva in platform shoes with Algonquinlike wit who smokes glamorous du Mauriers and ends each night in a pool of his own sick, when he’s really just a gentle Canadian government worker longing for love.

41 of 210 : Uncle Freddie

Kind, genuine, and unfailingly upright (in the very best sense of that word), I always thought he was one of the quieter members of our rather loud and garrulous family until I realized that most of the laughter at our holiday gatherings was provoked by his dreadful puns, ever-so-artfully timed.

40 of 210 : A Man in the Airport

The old man stood at the restroom sink, shaky hands searching in vain for the faucets, a look of helplessness on his face: was this more evidence that he was losing his faculties? When I showed him how the photoelectric sensor turned on the water, he nearly cried with relief.

39 of 210 : Sue Ann

We talked marriage almost immediately. We watched our coupled friends fall in love, fight, break up, make up, uncouple, and start over again. Such dysfunction, we thought. We’ll show ’em how to do it properly! Odd how our plans never foresaw that big coming-out announcement we made to one another.

38 of 210 : Karl

After using a brush to remove every last speck of dust from the LP, he let us hear the opening strains of Vaughan Williams’ Mass in G Minor. We gasped at the exquisitely etherial music. No more than forty-five seconds later, he lifted the needle. “Just a taste,” he said.

37 of 210 : Frances

Her laminated card read The Lurkers’ Society, with no other information. “Every so often we wear trenchcoats and lurk in the stairwells,” she explained. “Occasionally we hide behind trees, or conceal ourselves in darkened alleys.” Answering my quizzical look, she shrugged, “It’s just what we do.” I signed up immediately.

36 of 210 : Liz

She become an Episcopal priest, battling through the tough ordination process in a part of the country still resistant to women priests. But I’ll always remember her as Martha to my George in a stunning performance of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf in college: her “What a dump!” was perfection.

35 of 210 : Ingrid

The tall, aging German woman didn’t own the place, but we called it Ingrid’s anyway. The dark, louche bar-and-restaurant-that-never-seemed-to-serve-food was home to a handful of hard-bitten regulars. Les and I found dozens of ways to ply free drinks from its denizens, and danced to Chuck Mangione on the juke box.

34 of 210 : George

Meet Jim’s father: Thin and wiry in youth, by middle age he was badly stooped and gnarled with arthritis; when he was old, he was practically a pretzel. A snarling dog of a man, and rabidly racist, we all felt his physical afflictions rather aptly illustrated the twisted virulence inside.