Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot and Never Brought to Mind?

My parents loved going to Elaine and Romeo Bergamini's home in New Rochelle, NY for New Year's Eve. Elaine and my mom were lifelong friends and on December 31, they toasted the new year with two other girlhood pals--the two Dots [short for Dorothy]--and their husbands.

I tagged along when I was a young teen, sitting in the backseat of the Chevy Nova, hanging out in the basement with the younger of the Bergaminis' nine children. I witnessed the adults' laughter and love. The shrimp, the drinks [Manhattans for my parents, most likely], the "meltaway" danish from a local bakery at midnight. The milk in glass bottles, a novelty to me. The smiles, the pure delight these friends showed at just being in each other's company on the brink of another year.

For years now, the New Year's Eve party has been disbanded. The group of eight dwindled long ago to just Dad, and [we think] one of the Dots, though Dad has lost touch with her.

So tonight I went to Van Dyk to see Dad before heading to the festive party Paige and Gary hosted--a party with sparkly clothes, paper noisemakers, delicious food and ice-cold champagne. None of us in wheelchairs, none of us in adult diapers.

I brought Dad some Swiss cheese [a favorite] and we had some chocolate and called David Bergamini, the youngest of the nine, on my cell phone. He now lives in the New Rochelle house with his own wife and kids.

Dad's smile was big when I handed him the phone to talk to David. When he passed it back to me and David and I got to talking for a while, Dad said more than once, Ask him if he's heard from Dot. He hadn't.

Other Voices, Other Rooms
I don't know, David--if you turned the lights off and sat in that dining room tonight, could you have channeled them all? Seen your mom and mine laughing and chatting, their cheeks flushed, circle pins of pearls or woven gold on the bodices of their wool dresses? Seen your mother's kind, wide smile? Seen your dad and mine talking like brothers about the small, simple villages in Italy that their families came from?

Would you hear the clink of glasses, the oohs and aahs when the big chilled cocktail shrimp were served?

What were our parents wishing for? What did they toast? What did they have, and what did they want? Most of the eight died way before their time.

If you turn out the lights and listen, what will you hear?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.