Tag: recounted

SM sent me a .zip file of old photos from our high school days. in it were a few of our good friend SPS, who during our junior year was struck by a car and a passed away. i honestly haven’t even thought about her in a long time, but seeing those photos brought me straight back to that winter in my dorm room when i picked up my phone and heard the news. i don’t remember who was on the other end, but i do remember the stunned silence, the cry, the fetal position i crawled into, the ridiculous hope that if i somehow prayed hard enough that i could somehow send a shot of healing magic across thousands of miles that would bring her back to life.

SPS, SM, YF and i were the four members of a cheese pact, so named because it was so cheesy and mushy in sentiment. we didn’t have many tenets or rules by which to abide, but the ones we did have ensured that we’d celebrate life milestones together. we were to call each other on our birthdays and attend each others weddings, childbirths, and funerals, in that order. we were just graduating high school. we were young and naive. we didn’t understand mortality. the future, aging, marriage, children — these were all givens. absolutes. death was something that came later. much later.

the summer before she passed, we shared one beautiful, warm day eating lunch together because we interned at neighboring offices. hers was for a toy company and mine was for a foundation. the benches in madison square park were all taken by corporate suits so we claimed a clean, poo-free spot on the lawn.

while our friendship extended back to middle school, attending separate colleges created a slight chasm in the relationship. you know how college goes: out of sight, out of mind. small talk was a necessity. we had to get to know each other — these “new us’s” whose identities were shifting and were being shaped by new surroundings, friends, even partners. she told me about this guy she was dating, how he was an orthodox jew, the son of famous mystery novelists, a really great guy from LA. then she asked about my love life.

you have to understand that it was a really uncomfortable topic for me back then because i was still closeted. it was made even more uncomfortable because in high school, SPS and i could’ve been an item. that is IF a) i hadn’t been a coward or b) i was willing to lie through my teeth pretending to be straight — depending on how you look at it. i still don’t know if the feelings of attraction i had for her back then were real, hormonal, projected, or who-knows-what. point being, she was really someone i thought i could’ve dated and my definition of “date” back then meant “preparing for our future together. forever.”

anyway, i’m pretty sure i gave her the same excuse i gave everyone back then: that there was no one who interested me enough. that i really look for long-term companionship. that i was too busy with other stuff.

she knew. she knew the real reason why i wasn’t dating. i knew she knew because she presented the worst segue in history by starting to discuss her many gay friends at harvard and their great relationships and the freedom and happiness they found in coming out. she said all this without directly asking me if i were gay, but in her eyes — in her puppy-dog eyes that opened widely when she wanted something — she was demanding the truth from me.

i think i segued back into how difficult it is to find a good “match” (i excluded pronouns and gender-descriptors from all conversations about relationships). she gave me a disappointed look. we finished eating. we hugged goodbye. we went back to work. i must have returned to the office feeling really flustered, both from the heat of the day but especially from our conversation.

thankfully, this was not a defining moment in our friendship even though it was one of, if not, THE last interaction i had with her alone. when i remember her, i think about shakespeare, and dorr, and house parties, and english class, and backstage antics, etc. yet, our conversation that day revealed so much about her personality and character. if i were more mature then, i would have realized how brave she was to broach the subject. she was going out on a limb to make sure i knew who i was. she wanted me to be just as happy as her other gay friends (that simple, right?). if i were more brave, i’d have given her the answers she wanted.

i reflect on that conversation now and think, “what would SPS think about my relationship today?” i hope she’s smiling down and doing a little giddy tap dance routine.

per my new goals, i’m supposed to write a blog a day, journal, and/or do morning pages. i’m afraid that what that means for you, dear reader, is that this blog will turn into absolute non-sense once my free-train-of-thought takes over.

i was just looking over my old xanga page and remembered the amount of investment in time and energy it took to compose just one entry. no wonder it’s so hard for me to write a freaking full-length play! i have a constant need to edit — even my blog entries about absolutely nothing. and you know who’s fault that is.

yours. yes you. i think about your enjoyment way too much. it’s time to get a little selfish. so here’s my formal apology if my entries become a bit — self important? self indulgent? nonsensical except to me?

i do hope, however, that you find something entertaining as i type-vomit. i mean, if someone blogs and no one’s around to read it, did i really blog?

now that spring is here, i’ve been thinking about creating a potted garden on our back porch. whatever we decide to plant would have to be super disease and pest-resistant though. our little trader joe’s basil plant didn’t survive for very long because of aphid attacks. the leaves ultimately made for some unsavory looking toppings for many o’ pasta dishes.

one flower i’d definitely like to plant are some mexican sunflowers, which if you’ve ever visited me in canada (aka da bronx), you might have seen growing on our fire escape (along with one too many aloe plants and a crawling morning glory that snaked around the windows in the office — what was i thinking?). in my memory, the mexican sunflowers look like black-eyed daisies, but in actuality were a fiery orange. i just remember being so happy seeing them in full bloom. the bright colors contrasted starkly against the red brick of the house across the street and the blue summer sky views that were ours to claim from the 4th floor.

secretly, i wanted people to look up from the street or out of their windows and admire the plants. instead, all i got were a few cigarette butts and dirty rag water falling from the 5th floor junkies. it became my routine to sift through the soil to throw out their trash once a week. nothing was sacred to them. not even my little fire escape eden. maybe i should’ve gifted them the plants when we moved out. maybe they could’ve used a little sunflower power to brighten up their lives?

if i weren’t me, i’d say to me:

i know how you feel. sometimes things just don’t really work out the way we intend them to. there’s no rhyme or reason. it doesn’t mean you’re not good enough or deserving. in some cases, it means you’re OVER-qualified.

you know what you want to do. you know what you NEED to do. it’s time to pare down and simplify. all those other things in life that have been distracting you — cut it out. focus. do not be afraid to succeed.

but i am me. time to do a facial and soak in the tub. give me 30 minutes to be sad.

i think i’ve reached that point where being unemployed is no longer fun. i had a temp job last week as the receptionist for a building management company. it was pretty brainless work, but i kind of liked getting dressed in the morning, heading out early, and having defined duties that i could check off as i completed each task. while i love the luxuries of unemployment — waking up late, enjoying the outdoors when the weather’s nice, traveling — i’m stressing out about money and a little thing called “the future.” what the hell am i doing?

i had my first-ever phone interview this morning at 9am. i have no recollection of anything we spoke about and all i remember is struggling to find the appropriate responses to the interviewer’s questions. i had so much difficulty forming sentences. it’s as if my mind knew what i wanted to say, but that the synapses required to vocalize my thoughts were missing. this is nothing new. i wonder if it’s a result of the digital age — i have no trouble typing, rather rapidly, my thoughts onto the computer screen. yet, when it comes to expressing myself through sound, i’m screwed. i’m not used to “speaking” with people anymore. another reason to be a writer!

i was stressing out this whole weekend about an audition i had yesterday for a major musical. they asked me to prepare some sides, a pop/rock song, and a shirtless disco dance. i have no dancing skills so the whole weekend, i choreographed a simple routine that i thought would be fun, but simple enough that i wouldn’t mess up the moves. then, i did a gazillion sit-ups and a bit of weightlifting even though i knew three days of exercise would not fix four months of inactivity. i also rallied some friends to help me practice three songs (just in case). at the actual audition, they only wanted me to sing the first verse of the song and to hear me read the sides. better to be over-prepared, i guess? i don’t know when or if i’ll ever hear back. knock knock knock on wood.

back to the grind.