Bent Words

Bent Words

September 21, 2006

Note to Obi -- Chi to Me

Fuck, dude.

That's not what I said or even close to what I was thinking. He lied to you when he said, "she says hi." I shouldn't have let on that I knew it was you calling -- but something sprang up deep inside of my heart and I couldn't help but mention your name. But I never said "hi."

That wasn't at all what I was thinking...

I was thinking about how refreshing it would be if I could say "hi," "how ya been?" and "what's new?"

The way it used to be when we were best friends and how I couldn't wait for that moment in the evening when you would literally fall UP the stairs to the duplex we all seemed to inhabit at one time or another. Your clumsy gait that grew on me and the pigeon-toed boots you left by the couch -- size 13 or bigger, perhaps.

That damned duplex on Walton Drive where motorcycles swelled, bar to bar, in a one car garage. You couldn't walk through the garage.

I was thinking about your Johnny Bravo (whoo ha whoo!) styled hair that was only an accident because I cannot recall a day in our time together that you ever took a brush or comb to that dirty blond, thick mass on the top of your head. Never mind -- I can recall styling your hair on your sister's wedding day. Her name is my name and my brother's name is your name -- we always used to laugh about that. Thanks for video taping his wedding, by the way and, did you know, my aunt Judy died of skin cancer. She was the one who wouldn't stop hitting on you that night at the reception and you never really knew what to say...

I was thinking about your shy smile that only ceased to wash over your face when you had something really hilarious to impart. You always made me laugh and I thank you for that.

I was thinking about my first and last sunrise. On the wooden steps, full of knots and writhing with torsion, of that silly duplex on Walton Drive. We sat together, a little close but too far away, and watched the golden sun surprise the sky because we couldn't, or didn't want to, sleep.

I still have the knife from the BBC trip. The pond we sat beside after the river tried to take you away and long after Duker puked in the hot sun and went to bed by himself. A peacock strolled by, casually, and I couldn't help but think -- how unusual! But not too unusual for you.

I was thinking that I miss your grandma. And mine, too.

I was thinking about the cows in the mountains at the gas station. What were they doing there? Roby stroked my long, straight hair and cried inside when I cried on Roanoke mountain -- the view was breathtaking and the company couldn't be compared to.

You see, I do not like to forget.

I was thinking I wish I could say thank you.

For the biggest hands I've ever seen that never made me feel safe but they were so handsome just the same. For silent nights and rows of Cribbage, joy rides and your confessions. For beautiful words dipped in modesty and honesty that wasn't pure but still appropriate. Thank you for trying and looking hard into my eyes and almost asking me to marry you. This complicated Jersey Girl. I loved that ring from The Crow and watched it melt from my finger. The perfection in sweet simplicity. Growing up on your time was time well spent and knowing you in a brilliant blink was life well occupied.

I was thinking that I miss my friend. And I'm sorry I fucked up. Though I'm sure none of that matters now.

And I did not say hello. I wouldn't disturb your life with such a pithy greeting or, really, any greeting at all.

Oh, by the way, it was nice -- really nice -- to see you. Alive and well. From a distance. You caught my eye.

Most Sincerely,

Your Insanity

Written at 12:13 a.m.