This is not one of our dates. It’s not 9/7 or 7/25, 1/14 or even 10/23. The day has no significance save the fact that you’re on my mind, incessantly, reverb on repeat. Pissed off after work recently I went to my “Run” Spotify playlist and thoughts of you swelled to the beat of Antichrist, song 3; #metoo movement be damned. Staunch feminist that I am now, I’m trying to get completely rid of Manson, but he’s the soundtrack to some of our best times. 9/7/1993-1/14/2007. As I sit here texting your 20yr old daughter, whom you’ve never met, I wonder what your life would be like right now if fate hadn’t intervened the way she did. I doubt I’ll ever not be salty over that.
These are still bittersweet to look at, even after all the time in the world. Fourteen years of my sundry, amalgamated memories of you; attempting to stuff years into a singular paltry paragraph: The only girl with balls big enough to tell me the truth about the elite girl’s school my parents were placing me in. The way your eyes lit with familiar when I mentioned The Last Unicorn. The dark reverence your gaze held when giving back my copy of Lost Souls. The Starbucks debacle, our first beach trip, the seventh. How we saved up for damn near forever to set our leather boots onto the sacred cobblestone streets of Decatur, finally. That concert. A million 4am nights. Tears and truth and truancy from adulthood, at almost any cost. I’ve never been closer to anyone, before or since. I don’t even think that level of understanding is possible from another human anymore.
And Eve, Emily now, who you used to end every night after 2001 fretting over. Let me tell you; she’s fucking amazing. She is all of you with only 20% of the pain and trauma. 100% of the talent and warmth and intellect. She is so much smarter than we were at her age. She is you without the life whips and baggage; with the right parents. Raised with listening ears and no automatic, brutally rendered religious guilt. She has your thirst for adventure, your brilliance, but only a fraction of darkness and sorrow. The world would be horribly amiss if you never got to see, or be seen by her. But I’m damn sure you’re looking down with pride, awe and a knowing smile.