Last night was the first night of Passover, and therefore we had the first of two Passover seders.

I got to thinking about my most unusual Passover seder, which happened four years ago.

During my last year of law school in Virginia, a couple of weeks after spring break, I started to feel sick. I developed a fever, and then I got a sore throat. My throat got worse until it was incredibly painful for me to swallow. I felt miserable. I could barely sleep. After a few days, I finally went to the doctor, and after doing some tests, he told me I had mono.

I called my parents to tell them. Within a day, my mom decided she was going to drive the seven hours from northern New Jersey down to Charlottesville, Virginia to take care of me. She reserved a suite for us at the local Marriott Residence Inn, where she could watch over me for a few days — a bedroom for me, a small living room with a couch for her to sleep on, a kitchenette with a small table.

She arrived at the Marriott in the early evening. I packed some things and drove over to meet her there.

It happened to be the first night of Passover. So she’d brought a seder with her.

She brought a tablecloth for the table. She brought matzoh. She brought some of the food intended for the big seder back home: brisket, and matzoh ball soup, and vegetables, and potato kugel, and one or two other side dishes. She brought macaroons. She brought two Haggadahs. I think she brought a seder plate, with the appropriate items stored in little bags or containers. She brought ginger ale, which I drank instead of wine.

We basically just went through the motions; it was about 30 percent religious observance, and 70 percent an excuse for me to eat well.

It was the best seder I’ve ever had, and it’s one of the many reasons I love my mom so much.
—–

My review of last night’s “Buffy.”

Excuse me. This is for you.

Nearly two years ago, I got cruised on the PATH train.

(You know, I had a general idea of when this incident had happened, and I knew I’d blogged about it, so all I had to do just now was search my monthly archives from around that time and do a search on the word “cruised.” First I checked April 2001; then I checked May, and there it was. Isn’t blogging the coolest?)

Anyway. So. On May 29, 2001, I got cruised on the PATH train.

Then, one cold night about three months ago, I was exiting the PATH station after returning from the city, and I saw him again. He must have been ahead of me in the crowd getting off the train, because he was standing there now, across the street, in front of a restaurant, staring at me, with a hint of a grin on his face. I looked at him for a moment — he looked familiar, and then I remembered who he was. But I was too nervous to say anything. So I continued walking. Then I saw him walk down a different street, so I turned back and began following him, but he was walking too fast for me to catch up. So I lost my nerve and went back to my original route.

I saw him again tonight.

I was standing at the 23rd Street PATH station, waiting for the train to whisk me back home. A man walked past me, slowly. I looked up, and I recognized him. He was sort of looking at me, so I knew it was him. He had a beard now. Neither of us said anything. I pretended not to see him, but I could feel him looking at me. So I glanced over at him, and our eyes met for a split second.

Then I looked down at my feet and tried to suppress a grin — without success.

I looked over at him again, smiled and nodded. He returned the smile and the nod.

I thought of going up to him and saying hi, but it was very quiet on the platform, and I was conscious of other people hearing us.

The train came, and he got on first. He took an empty seat. There was an available seat directly across from him (the PATH cars are set up like NYC subway cars), but I didn’t want to sit there, because I knew we’d play eye tag for at least 10 minutes, and the thought of doing so made me nervous.

Instead, I sat in a different part of the car so I couldn’t see him.

But I’d already resolved that once we got off the train, I’d say hi, maybe chat with him for a few minutes, and give him my phone number.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, the train approached our stop.

I saw him stand up and glance over at me. And then… I realized he was talking to some other guy.

A friend or something.

Dammit!

Clearly they were going to get off the train together. How was I supposed to make my move?

So I opened my bag. I took out a pen and a scrap of paper. I wrote down my name and my phone number. I’d just slip him the piece of paper once we got off the train. Yes. Excuse me, this is for you, I’d say, with a flirty grin on my face.

The train arrived at our stop. The doors opened. They got off. They were ahead of me going up the stairs. I was a mere five feet behind them.

And I said nothing.

They walked to the top of the steps and out into the cool night air, and they continued to walk away, lost in chatter.

Five feet in front of me.

And I said nothing.

I crossed the intersection to follow the route back to my apartment.

I tossed the scrap of paper into a trashcan.

Excuse me. This is for you.

Dammit.