Kelly Jo

We became friends over books -- I told you that I was the only one who shelved the Penguin Classics. You made "that face" said "fine" and walked away. I made "that face" and mimicked your fine and shelved the books ... and then felt like a complete asshole and apologized.

You were young and beautiful and I wondered why you wanted to be friends with someone who was bitter, crabby and dumpy. I was suspicious, assuming that the only reason you wanted to go out together was because I made you look good -- I was the frumpy friend who would get the frumpy companion and you would end up with the better looking boy at the club. Do I know how wrong that sounds? Of course I do. But that was who I was then. What's the point in hiding it now? I didn't trust anyone.

And then that time we went out and I came back from the bathroom at the King's Head Pub and you whispered to me "You're my girlfriend now" and I realized that you didn't need anyone to make you look beautiful and that it was not always a blessing. (I also realized, as you did, that "You're my girlfriend now" doesn't work. Ever. They just get more interested.)

You didn't judge people. It was weird, because that's all I did. You accepted everyone and by doing so made everyone accept you back. It made me protective and fearful for you, but it also meant that I didn't have to work at being your friend. It didn't matter what I looked like or if I spoke in obscure movie quotes or had no pictures of family in my apartment ("Who are all these people?" "Well, that's Irving Thalberg and that's Buster Keaton..."), you allowed me in, and, like everyone else whose life you touched, you cherished our friendship. You treated us all like we had value. We were all wanted and loved and special to you. There was nothing to be afraid of.

You and I went through boyfriend transitions together, hundreds of apartment transitions together and garage sales and states as we moved all over the country and changed our lives and changed our jobs. I have so many wonderful memories:

"How dude" - being the only 2 people in the movie theater who enjoyed The Island of Dr. Moreau - Eiffel Tower earrings - Giggles "Night Club" - men's gymnastics and the pummel horse (oh God...) - the baby doll party - Dennis Quaid and no one wanting to help him in the optometrist chair - William Hurt calling Demi Moore a "whore" - Mr. Fantil - those $1 margaritas in Vegas and how many people did we have in the Honda Civic? - hiding your tweezers - "How much for this?" "Um, that's my purse. It's not for sale." - packing your dishes into my suitcase - the "Be a Chuck" mug - my mom calling you during the hurricane - eating the face cream at Burt's Bees ("It has avocado in it") - spinning - the bunnies in the courtyard - not the cute boy's car - Oscar de la Hoya and lamb stew - "baby girl" - Millennium New Year's Eve in Times Square and how no New Year's Eve after that has ever been the same (kissing the boys who kissed the girls from Sheepshead Bay; the couple from Virginia - "it's for lovers" - who never sent us the pictures - waving a flattened metal horn and shouting OY TAXI!) - Las Vegas and the Luxor pool, the room service, the fight, making up in The Mirage with Chile's idea for an airplane-themed hotel and Chuck loudly cursing the Orioles for losing, and the melted chocolate - Colorado and Matt and not Matt and then Matt and then "I don't know" and then you knew - then Kentucky and Ari and plans to finally go one day to Hurricane Mills.

Then you had cancer and they said it was gone. Then it wasn't. Then I had cancer. Stage IV? Stage IV. Dude, why? I don't know. This is so stupid. It is. Why is this happening? I don't know. I'll have a fundraiser. I'll knit you something. We'll go to Disneyland in January and see if they let us in for free. We'll take Ari, Francesca and Rocco and watch them laughing on the rides even if we can't go on with them. Let's plan on it. Okay.

I'm alone without you, but together with you always. I miss you.

When we picked this picture up at the desk you told me never to show it to anyone, and then we did anyway, proudly, and I show it here now because I love that we were brave and silly enough to ride in a gondola with a Las Vegas showgirl who threw beads at gamblers.

I wish we could do it again.

In due time we will see the far butte lit by a flare
I've seen your bravery, and I will follow you there
And row through the night time
Gone healthy
Gone healthy all of a sudden