Friends...

“Whatcha thinkin? Lucas asked me as we walked along West Peachtree street, across 17th. It’s Friday night and we’re on our way to Center Stage to watch some Muay Thai action that my favorite client Stuart is promoting. This is the first time I’ve seen Lucas in a year. Wanting to both support Stuart and see Lucas I decided to combine everything into one evening.
The question catches me off guard and I’m not sure how to answer it. I look over at him.
“Why do you ask?”
“I dunno. Curious.”
“Hmm. I guess I’m not really thinking anything.” I reply.
Before he asked me, memories I thought I forgot about were flooding my head. There is an old building next to Center Stage where I signed my first lease. It was 2002 and I had just turned twenty. I spent a year there fighting my way home after work every weekend through the crowds the venue brought. Still, I loved the little space I shared with a satanic kitten beneath another little space occupied by a co-worker who was very dear to me. Many nights were spent at each other’s places gossiping, laughing hysterically, and sharing intimate details of our lives.
Fast forwarding six years, never did I imagine that I’d be walking along this familiar street again with a friend I didn’t know existed at the time to support a client I didn’t know I’d have, all while trying to distract myself from this gaping hole of grief I thought I’d never fall into.
That seemed to be a lengthy answer to his question so I didn’t share it. We were already at the door anyways.
A few hours later we were exiting agreeing we both had a blast. The stifling heat of the afternoon had dropped leaving the still mugginess of a typical southern summer night. Walking to his car we decide to go to Apres Diem for dessert.
Sitting across from him in a corner sharing a chocolate/red velvet layered cake that was (in most cases) better than sex I decided to ask him random questions about what happens to the body once the life is gone from it. (Lucas is a chiropractor and has taken more anatomy classes than I can remember.) I’m still trying to wrap my mind around this whole death experience. I’m not sure what I’m looking for in asking all this but I keep firing away until I’m out of questions.
We’re quiet for a moment when he asks, “Anything you want to talk about?”
Yes.
“No.” I take my eyes off his and let them wander around the room. His are still on mine when I return. “I mean, I want to talk, I just don’t know how to say what’s in my head because I don’t understand it. I thought writing would help and it does, but it still doesn’t scratch the surface.”
He nods. Neither of us say anything. If I just start talking, maybe something useful will happen. Maybe by unloading on him I’ll be able to make some sense of whatever this is. He’ll listen. He said he would. He’s like a huge blank canvas for me to paint on in any way I like and yet I seem to have lost my favorite color and my will to find it. Unloading on him seems to be too much effort so I keep it all to myself.
We leave shortly after. He takes me home and I fall into bed only to lay awake swimming in thoughts until sleep finally shuts them out.
I wake up to my alarm a mere four hours later. On my way to work I grab a strong cup of coffee and hope my make-up doesn’t melt off my face as I walk into the building.
Work is good. Everyone has great hair and they’re all on time and in good moods. I just downed cup of coffee number two when Jhoni comes back to the break room to tell me Amy is here.
“Hi!” I squeal and hug her hard. I met Amy at Van Michael. We became friends immediately after her first haircut with me.
“Hi sweetie, how are you?”
“Good. Come on over.”
Amy decides to change her hair. I hope my caffinated hands stop shaking long enough to get through it. A few days ago at the most perfect time (I was rather upset) she sent me a text message thanking me for listening to her the other night when we got together. “You mean so much to me. I’m so happy to have you in my life. I love you.”
I slide my comb down the back of her head and say “Thank you for your text message the other day.” I can’t look her in the face all the sudden out of fear I’m going to lose my shit and start crying.
“Of course!”
“No really. It meant a lot and… I’m really lucky to have you.”
“Aw! I am too!” she smiled.
“I haven’t forgotten what you said after your mother died.” I glance at her then back at the section of hair I’m cutting. Her mother died two years ago. “You know, when you said the people that you thought would be there weren’t, but people you thought wouldn’t care, cared the most.”
“Absolutely. It’s so true.”
“I couldn’t imagine it though, and now that it’s happened to me, I’m experiencing it and it hurts a lot.”
“I know.”
We go into more details of her mother’s death and the events that followed. It’s taking everything I’ve got not to cry. It’s not that she would care, it’s I’m at work and I work very hard to stay perfectly composed at all times.
We agree to get together soon as I finish her hair. My work day ends eventually. As I drive home, I decide I will try my hardest to hang on to my gratitude for the company I’ve shared with people following Rob’s death, and work a little harder on letting everything else go.