Monday, January 21, 2008

Have Peace in Your Soul


It has been four days since the black of my blinking eyelids have been replaced with a colorful image of Dan’s latest hair-do, his blue streaked pompadour. My friend, Daniel Anton Yakovleff, is drinking bubbles at the eternal gay bar in our hearts.









I know many of Dan’s friends, both Boston and Connecticut, are struggling with emotions of fear, loss, and anger resulting from unanswered questions. I don’t have all the answers but I do know this: Dan’s life will be celebrated by the ones who knew him, who knew him and loved him on the last few days of his always peaceful life.

I know I can speak for all of Dan’s Boston friends when I extend warm condolences and a never-ending lifeline of support to Dan’s family. Please do not hesitate to contact any one of us in your time of need, and the days, months, and years following.

The gayborhood was our playground. Dan and I worked across the street from each other in the heart of Boston’s South End. With Dan at Liquid, and I at Tremont 647/Sister Sorel, nearly every day was filled with Starbucks runs, weekly mani/pedis, laughter amongst friends, hair parties in my kitchen, and quick trips to H&M. Thursdays were for industry night at Toro and boyfriend hunting at The Beehive. Sundays were brunch days and my weary pajama wearing body would always be rejuvenated with a burst of positive energy while I served Dan coffee and eggs.

When Michael called me at noon on Friday asking if I had talked to Dan at all, I did not guess for second that Dan was in any danger. Given Dan’s gentle nature and appreciation of a good late night dance party, I simply assumed he had called Michael to make plans for a nothing short of stellar evening. Michael then explained why he asked. Dan had not been to work in two days. Dan doesn’t miss work. Dan’s life is his work. Dan was starting to worry me. I immediately called him. Straight to voicemail. Mailbox full. Sarah and I spent a good portion of the time allotted to folding napkins and polishing silver hiding in the Tremont 647 bathroom calling local hospitals and police stations. YAKOVLEFF… y..a..k..o..v…yes V as in Victory. I wish I knew then that my worry for my friend would not turn into a victorious occasion.

The following days leading up to these words have been nothing less than extraordinary. I am amazed by the number of people who have been touched by Dan’s presence. The support that was have all received by each other, Dan’s coworkers at Liquid, and my coworkers at Sister Sorel, has truly been a force that Dan would be proud to say he was once a part of.

We lit this candle on his chair at Liquid and loved. We laughed, we cried, and then laughed some more. I thank the staff at the salon and praise their strength. Now and in the trying times that are ahead.





I’m not quite sure which is easier, being on the immediate inner circle, or being on the outer, the outer of the immediate information. Because of the timeline of the evening that our friend was taken from ALL of us, the proximity of information is overwhelming. I can assure you the last time we all saw Dan, he was demonstrating his amazing gift of gab and enjoying his colorful life with the amazing people who gravitated to him.


Please know that despite the lack of media coverage (which we are all very distraught and confused about as well), that this was not a random act and rather an isolated incident. Although speculated we have all collectively come to terms that Dan was not killed solely because he was gay. I am lucky that I have this support net to tangle me into love and remind me that I wasn’t in the third floor walk up apartment, in the triple decker building, on the tree lined street, in neighborhood of Dorchester that evening. Some questions will never be answered. The one thing I know is that Dan would never want us to stop questioning, never stop searching for answers about who we are, the lives we want to live, and the people we want to become. Dan would never want us to stop living. Dan would never want us to stop believing.





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