Someone wonderful passed away this week. She was a mother, friend, and artist. She could play a guitar and sing with such power and beauty it would make your toes curl. I don’t recall the first time I met her. Since my 20’s she just has always been there. We worked on a CD together (A Little Nip), Discard Avant Garb (a fashion show that was a first of its kind in this area), and countless local shows. Now I will be honest, sometimes we fought. It happens when you have friends. Sometimes she was right and sometimes I was. None of it is important in the grand scheme of things. All that matters is that you make up and forgive and move on.
The times when we were all younger and running around like maniacs were some of the best times I have ever had. We were old enough to be adults and young enough to know we were young enough. Then, like my prolonged adolescence, shit changes. Marriages, babies, houses, responsibilities, and having to be a grown-up, take you away from people. All that stuff brings you new people and your idea of fun changes. Although, what really happens it that you can keep pace what that kind of fun anymore. You get fat, thin, fat again, chin hair, grey hair, fallen arches, anxiety disorders and the joys of middle age mood swings. You take drugs to stay alive and stable and not so much for the thrill of it anymore. Sometimes, as much as you love someone, it is difficult to put in the effort to keep in contact, even if you are in the same town. I’m so bad at that, to my own detriment. I am lazy about those things. I like being in my house. I like laying low. I love being with my daughter. I fucking hate having to go to things that I need to wear a bra or Spanx or (God forbid) both.
I did manage to go to her fundraiser a week before she passed. I made it a priority and I should have made being a friend more of a priority. I saw lots of folks from the wild days. One of my nipper friends showed up. I was especially bad at keeping up with her. I had been invited to visit her in her new home country and would always find an excuse not to go. Hell, I have a best friend in D.C. that has lived there for 25 years and still haven’t visited. I couldn’t remember if her and I had fought or if I was holding a grudge for some fucking “injustice” I felt. Alls I know is that when I saw her we put our foreheads together like we did in the old days and it was like no time had passed. We both started to cry because the third person was missing and she would never be in the huddle again. And not for nothing, that sucks! It sucks real hard. Her suffering for one moment of her life is just for shit. It sucks for her wonderful husband who was her true love and a true partner. It sucks for her children that their mother is gone. It sucks for the artist community, for which she was a legend. She was a brilliant songwriter and poet. Her words danced and her music spoke. It is a rare combination. It never came off as smarmy or overly sentimental. Her songs and writing were always real and raw and amazing.
I still can’t even fathom that she is not here. It doesn’t seem real. It certainly isn’t right. I can only wish that someday I get to see her on the other side and we are all in our 20’s again, making grown men cry and drinking at the Palais.