One January morning, about six years ago,
I woke up to quiet.
But not a peaceful quiet.
An empty quiet.
My friend Ruth was gone–packed up for her home and family in Wisconsin,
and our apartment was so lonely without her.
Every morning, before she left,
there was music playing from her room–
weird stuff I had never ever heard before–
Andrew Bird and Amanda Palmer and I think Radiohead
and definitely Poe.
We bought this wonderfully hideous red velvet sofa together,
and spent a Saturday hanging pictures of Paris on the walls,
along with a white iron candelabra that I still have now.
We pierced our noses together,
danced at a very silly piano bar in very silly costumes,
and talked about books and music and boys and philosophy–
and shoes, because SHOES is why.
And then she was gone.
I have missed my friend.
She’s moving back to California now,
which fills me with So. Much. Joy!
But I also know how hard this is–
her family is staying in Wisconsin,
and she’s leaving so much behind–
books and furniture and a family home,
and her fuzzy weasels, Wesley and Brodie
(because California is Stupid about ferrets, yo).
(and hedgepigs. STOOPID.)
I want to squeal and bounce around because she’s coming back,
and we get to have more adventures together…
but I know, I know
it’s not all awesomeness for her,
or for her folks.
What I would like to do is get on a plane
and land in Wisconsin tomorrow,
and stay with her to help pack and plan.
And also go get drinks at her favorite bars together,
just for a bit of a last hurrah.
June is going to be more difficult
than exciting for her.
And I wish I could bear that burden better,
with packing tape, a U-Haul, and a sneaky compartment to
weasel weasels over the border.
But she’s going to be here.
In a new job,
a new adventure,
and I am so immensely grateful to be a part of it.
go give my girl some love, and tell her that she’s awesome.
‘Coz she is:
Look! WE ARE THE CUTE.