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Every day I look for her obituary. But now I fully expect
there will be none. It has been a
month and one half since her death yet I can’t forget it.
She was my academic rival in grammar school. We had first
met when she moved into my neighborhood, actually across the street. We were kindergarten friends with her
even attending my fifth birthday party held in the back room of my parents
apartment. We started first grade together, sharing Sr. Barbara’s kind words to
encourage reading and third grade listening to Mrs. Gizzi’s war stories of her various surgeries. She even showed me her glass eye in the
palm of her hand. ( She had a retinoblastoma as an infant) Either she or I were
the last ones standing after Sr. Gabriel’s “Math Games” where girls were called
to stand in the front of the class by a frail old nun with a wicked laugh. “How
do you spell “ISOSCELES” L? “What
is a PARALLELOGRAM” J? “ The
formula for the area of a RHOMBUS”? The questions only stopped with the last
man standing.
While I enjoyed it, I never quite sensed the terror in my
fellow students eyes.
L went onto the corresponding high school of my grammar
school. She had won the coveted
scholarship by scoring 0.2 higher on the qualifying exam. I in turn went to another slightly more
traditional high school just four blocks away. We had nonetheless kept in touch
through mutual friends and going to school dances at local boys high schools.
She stayed local after high school whereas I left to find
the midwest and the world.
She stayed even more local following the tradition of young
adults in my city, living in NJ while working in NY, not unlike previous
generations.
She experienced privilege. Her parents won a Million dollar lottery in NJ. Yet like most lottery winners, their
fate was far from luck. Her father
died soon thereafter and she and her mother fought viciously over the money,
eventually suing each other.
I remember going to a mutual friend’s wedding and seeing L
for the first time in years. Her
face was hardened, steely and her attitude cold. She was stick thin. She was a
bridesmaid and her walk up the aisle a swagger and her glaze daggers. She
didn’t even glance at her mother seated alone in the back row, but if she had, her stare would have cut deeply.
Year went by.
Marriages, children, houses, etc.
L and I went our ways. I
was still living in Chicago when I heard of her diagnosis. Hearing someone had
AIDS in 1992 was not a good thing.
It didn’t hold the promise of a chronic manageable disease it does now. Some
hot shot stock trading boyfriend she had. A Bright Lights, Big City story that
was a typical as moussed big hair in the late 1980’s. I remember mourning in a
way. I would send her Christmas cards from that point on. I guess I was trying to say that I was
out there still thinking of her.
They were never reciprocated.
I would hear about her from time to time. Her mother had passed away. She bought a 5 bedroom house in a tony
suburb. Friends had helped her
with that house, but she never helped them. There is only so much giving and not
receiving a friendship can take.
I contacted her in earnest in 2010 for a mini Grammar school
reunion. I went to see her. Words could not describe her condition. Her house was in shambles, her dog, a
large bull dog was as obese as she was thin. My heart sank in disbelief.
I tried to be encouraging. I tried to help her understand that there were programs out
there for her and her medical needs.
That she should reconnect with others, especially at the reunion. People understand. People generally like to help. Hope is
allowed.
I left her with the blunt words “Please L, you need to
come.”
She never showed.
I got the drunkest I have been in a while, a combination of not eating
and enjoying reconnecting with people I hadn’t seen in 35 years.
I called her the following week. “You missed a good show, L,
I was plastered and even threw up the next morning. AM was mortified.”
She laughed but never fully explained why she didn’t show.
I saw her once more in 2012. I was stuck on the NJ turnpike, near the exit for her
suburb. I was alone and for many
reasons didn't want to rush home. “Hey
L I am in the area, mind if I stop in?”
I arrived at the house that was even in more disarray that the previous
year. “L you need help.” When I am nervous I am even more blunt
than usual: “You need to get out of here.” She explained that she was unemployed now, not getting her
meds and had trouble with her remaining vision. Her words were punctuated by her now obsession with her dog
who had grown even more obese.
She was concerned about her house. I tried to console, help
and encourage as best I can, yet it doesn’t always come out that way: my
parting words: “Fuck this house,
burn it down, for chrissakes, it’s just a house.”
I never saw her again.
Phone calls were never returned. Christmas cards were sent but never
reciprocated. Facebook birthday
wishes were only answered with
thumbs up message. She only
posted about lost dogs on Facebook. They were cautionary tails. They were not the only ones who were lost.
She died alone.
She was found after four days.
Her dog was with her. I last heard her veterinarian had taken him in.
She had the world at her feet. She was bright. She had loving parents. She had good friends. She was educated.
She had money. But it was never
enough. In the end she reaped nothing
because she sowed nothing.
Holidays are supposed to be festive, colorful and a family time. I can not help but to think of L today now that Christmas is over.
Every year for the past 20+ or so I send a mutual friend of
L’s and I a Christmas ornament. I
am not even sure how it started. I
try to be relevant. The year she
took her family for a European tour, I sent an glass ornament of multiple
suitcases. It’s a silly tradition but it became more necessary this year. Her friendship is one I never want to
forget. I send the crappy
ornaments to connect, to remember and to be remembered.I have also known her since kindergarten.
My friend understands.
L never did.
May she finally rest in peace.
