A Better Friend Than Me

Leisa CollinsI had a long talk tonight with a grieving girlfriend whose bestie just committed suicide. They’d been distant over the last few months, not because of her, but because he was going through a hard time & it made him act like a jerk, & he was the worst to the ones closest to him. She was hurt, resentful, doubted their friendship, but she never really gave up on him. She gave him the distance he seemed to want, not sure how much friending he wanted from her.

Before he did himself in, he wrote her a letter. The cops confiscated it & she’s still never gotten to read it, but I can guess what he wanted to say to her. He also sent her a scheduled text, written while alive but arriving days after his death, which, understandably, freaked her out. The text contained instructions – the kind you give to the person you trust most in the world. Clear my browsing history. Throw out the entire contents of my bedside drawer. You know.

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Rhinestone Earrings.

IMAG1964_1I avoid most of my high school classmates. There are only a few that I both like & think are interesting enough to talk to. But recently a classmate – I’ll call her Molly – has been popping into the bar to visit me. She was one of the popular crowd in high school – prom court, cheerleading – & although we were always nice to each other, I didn’t really hang with her crowd.

So apparently she’s been through a lot & her brain is pretty destroyed. She was pretty, but I guess not that smart, & right out of high school, her rich boyfriend dumped her (probably for college). I think she simply didn’t know what else to do with herself, so she got into an escort service because it was easy with her looks.

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Lives

Portlock 1989I saved someone’s life once.

In the early 90s, I was at a big party some of my college buddies were throwing, & I pulled a girlfriend out of a car.   I hadn’t seen her since graduation, & after a brief reunion at the party, I’d seen her disappear with a guy I knew was bad news.   Some stupid sixth sense told me to go rescue her, so I went outside & yanked her drunk ass out of his car & told him to get lost.   I told her the party was over for her & I was going to drive her home.

That wasn’t the moment I saved her life though.   Ron was a total choad (pretty, witty, & smart… & a big fat misogynist womanizer), but not dangerous.

At the prospect of being taken home, she broke into tears & the whole sordid tale of her life since I’d last seen her spilled out – abusive drug dealer boyfriend who forced a pipe into her face & raped her with beer bottles, desertion by her family, no job, no home.   So I took her home with me, to the UH dorms.   I was in the apartments, so we had a couch.

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Small light.

It’s been a rough few weeks.   Financial disasters, relational disappointments, antagonism from a coworker, social isolation, doom.   There’s not really anyone to talk to, not because of a lack of people who care, but rather a lack of people I feel like talking to.   The one person I feel might understand has gone away.   I know I’ll slowly work my way through this, but overall I’ve felt like I’m slipping back into that old depression.   I’ve spoken with my therapists; we go over practical care & solutions.   A whole bunch of things I have no motivation to go through the motions of.   I might be back to that kind of life where existence comes down to just taking one step, then taking one more.

What’s interesting is a little bit of self esteem, a little gift, that my mind keeps returning to.   I was at a fundraiser; one of those snotty $100-$200 per head dinners all the private school kids go to when they’re grown up.   There was a table of whores with their pimp, & I thought one of them was one of the most gorgeous girls I’d ever seen in her elegantly elaborate ballgown.   My boyfriend’s best friend had brought a date; a beautiful girl who remembered me from high school.   We’d met briefly in 9th grade; she’d only been there a little while, but she recognized me & said hello.   We ended up at different tables, but later on my boyfriend told me that she had told his buddy that when we were in 9th grade, I was the only person who was nice to her, & she’d never forgotten it.

I keep thinking about that.   Makes me smile.   I don’t know what it means, after I’ve saved lives, helped dying to the door, acted with honor in spite of abuse, sacrificed for others.   The only thing I remember, to warm myself, is that.   I don’t know what it means to only remember that.   Why has that become the only thing I’ve got?

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On Friendship… & Men

Sanada HiroyukiI’m not a crushy kind of girl (unless you count Sanada Hiroyuki).  I don’t spot guys particularly often; most times I’m very myopic in my social interactions & don’t even notice the hottie standing right next to my friend.   It’s mating nearsightedness.

However, if a girlfriend even expresses a mere visual interest in a present male, I then experience mating blindness.   If one of my girls says a guy is cute, suddenly he’s invisible to me.   I can’t see him.   Or, I can see him just enough to avoid walking into him & that’s about it.   I’m all for getting along with boyfriends/husbands of friends, but if there’s even a notion of one of my girlfriends giving chase to a free agent, in my eyes his availability is already forgotten – he’s hers, regardless of whether or not she actually catches him.

They don’t even have to be close girlfriends.   They can be just casual girlfriends that I get a drink with from time to time.   With all of these girlfriends, my ability to view a guy is immediately impaired if they express even mild interest in him.

I view this as loyalty.   Also practicality.   Also that random guys are not as important to me as friendships.   Guys have “bros before hos;” I have… well, I have nothing that rhymes quite as well.   You know what I mean though.

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