goodbye, best friend
so, my best friend is moving away next week. And I am inconsolable. I posted this elsewhere, but wanted to put it here, too. So here goes.
I met her when I was 29 (now I'm 31) and it was so strange because I thought I'd already met everyone who was going to really matter in my life. We haven't known each other long but it's one of those all-consuming friendships where you can't imagine a life at all beforehand. And no, we're not gay.
It was my first day on a new job. I had come from a company where I'd been sort of raked over the coals, esteem-wise. My boss had been younger than me and one of those managers who never really learned how to deal with people. And while I generally liked everyone over there and loved many aspects of my job, it was time to leave. I walked into this new place energized and ready for something new.
Ashley was sitting at her desk with her back facing the door and I remember her popping up like a little gopher to shake my hand and her eyes were big (not like Jennifer Wilbanks, but wide open, like they were taking everything in.) She is a lot like me in that way.
She started asking me question after question ... where are you from? what do you do? what do you know? what's your name? and we jibber jabbered like auctioneers for a good ten minutes before my new boss came in and said "time to go to lunch!" That meant me and the new boss, but not Ashley. I didn't walk out of the room, I backed out, and we were still talking. It was like being separated from someone after an anticipated reunion. That sounds dramatic but that's really how it was.
The way she explains it: I walked in standing super straight, eyes open (not like Jennifer Wilbanks), like "I'm here. What's up, guys" ... alert and confident like a warrior ready for battle. And that's how we've come to think of ourselves, the two warriors who always end up in the shitstorm together. I've said it to her a million times and she's said it to me - we wouldn't want to be in the shitstorm with anyone else.
In the last three years or so, we've been through a lot: Job changes, a breakup, health scares, money troubles, work drama, and all I have to say is thank god for her or I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere from the stress of it all. It's strange how life is, how when one of us is down in the dumps or bawling and blotchy faced because of some crisis, the other one is always there. I have scooped her up and she's scooped me up. She's been my blanket, my comfort in the dark of night, like a mama in a rocking chair.
But of course, there can be no talk about Ashley or about me without feces coming up once or twice or a million times. "that's a bunch of SHIT!" she'll say on the phone, in response to some BS thing that happened to me at work. Or, we'll see someone walking down the street looking like he has to go (or just went). Or maybe we ran into someone who had a little feekeez smeared on his arm. Hey, it's happened.
Ash does this imitation of a dude walking down the street in Walnut Creek (it has to be Walnut Creek) with a load in his drawers ... the best is when she's wearing these little grey Express pants and her little tiny legs are prancing oh-so-carefully so the doo in the drawers doesn't get too disturbed. Guess you just have to see it.
Then there was the time my car wouldn't start in the parking garage at midnight, and we got in to wait for a ride only to discover the electric locks were also dead. Yep, we were stuck inside and it only took about 25 minutes for us to get hungry. And to start saying things like "you know, if this turns into hours, I may have to eat your arm..." Then when Brad got there to help us, the darn thing started. If Ashley hadn't been there, he wouldn't have believed the car really died (cause I'm dumb that way).
I could tell a million stories. About Benoit, the imaginary french man that only comes out when we're eating Crepes at Crepes A Go Go. Or about the Indian restuarant in Berkeley that has the most heavenly lamb (to the point where we'd both fantasize about it at work ... a big giant piece of lamb floating in outer space). About the goatboy that shook Ashley's hand, then galloped into the sunset. We've had such adventures. Sigh.
She's only going to LA, for godsake, only a mere 6 hours away, but it's been heartwrenching. You should see us, cramming as many activities as we can into the weekends. "But she's leaving," I say to my boyfriend after informing him that he'll have to spend yet another weekend without me around.
I wish we had all the time in the world, because all of our outings seem to end too soon. I wish we could have more conversations, so I could tell her that no, her legs aren't crooked and that her face doesn't really look like an avalanche (she's beautiful, in case you're wondering. Classic-like). I try to tell her things sometimes, but I cry easily and it gets stuck in my throat.
Even when we're 80 and sitting on our porches talking to each other about the feces in our depends, I'll still have a hard time explaining to her what she's meant to me, and how I would be so, so lost without her. If I died today, I'd tell those on the other side that I've met everyone I'm meant to meet, and that Ashley was the cherry on top of the sundae.
We'll see each other often, even after she jumps in her car wednesday, ready to travel to SoCal with her 15,000 boxes of books. And if she ever needs a warm blanket in the dead of night, or needs some TP cause she's out, I'll be in my car, racin' on down to LA with the Charmin.
love you, Ashley.
I met her when I was 29 (now I'm 31) and it was so strange because I thought I'd already met everyone who was going to really matter in my life. We haven't known each other long but it's one of those all-consuming friendships where you can't imagine a life at all beforehand. And no, we're not gay.
It was my first day on a new job. I had come from a company where I'd been sort of raked over the coals, esteem-wise. My boss had been younger than me and one of those managers who never really learned how to deal with people. And while I generally liked everyone over there and loved many aspects of my job, it was time to leave. I walked into this new place energized and ready for something new.
Ashley was sitting at her desk with her back facing the door and I remember her popping up like a little gopher to shake my hand and her eyes were big (not like Jennifer Wilbanks, but wide open, like they were taking everything in.) She is a lot like me in that way.
She started asking me question after question ... where are you from? what do you do? what do you know? what's your name? and we jibber jabbered like auctioneers for a good ten minutes before my new boss came in and said "time to go to lunch!" That meant me and the new boss, but not Ashley. I didn't walk out of the room, I backed out, and we were still talking. It was like being separated from someone after an anticipated reunion. That sounds dramatic but that's really how it was.
The way she explains it: I walked in standing super straight, eyes open (not like Jennifer Wilbanks), like "I'm here. What's up, guys" ... alert and confident like a warrior ready for battle. And that's how we've come to think of ourselves, the two warriors who always end up in the shitstorm together. I've said it to her a million times and she's said it to me - we wouldn't want to be in the shitstorm with anyone else.
In the last three years or so, we've been through a lot: Job changes, a breakup, health scares, money troubles, work drama, and all I have to say is thank god for her or I'd be dead in a ditch somewhere from the stress of it all. It's strange how life is, how when one of us is down in the dumps or bawling and blotchy faced because of some crisis, the other one is always there. I have scooped her up and she's scooped me up. She's been my blanket, my comfort in the dark of night, like a mama in a rocking chair.
But of course, there can be no talk about Ashley or about me without feces coming up once or twice or a million times. "that's a bunch of SHIT!" she'll say on the phone, in response to some BS thing that happened to me at work. Or, we'll see someone walking down the street looking like he has to go (or just went). Or maybe we ran into someone who had a little feekeez smeared on his arm. Hey, it's happened.
Ash does this imitation of a dude walking down the street in Walnut Creek (it has to be Walnut Creek) with a load in his drawers ... the best is when she's wearing these little grey Express pants and her little tiny legs are prancing oh-so-carefully so the doo in the drawers doesn't get too disturbed. Guess you just have to see it.
Then there was the time my car wouldn't start in the parking garage at midnight, and we got in to wait for a ride only to discover the electric locks were also dead. Yep, we were stuck inside and it only took about 25 minutes for us to get hungry. And to start saying things like "you know, if this turns into hours, I may have to eat your arm..." Then when Brad got there to help us, the darn thing started. If Ashley hadn't been there, he wouldn't have believed the car really died (cause I'm dumb that way).
I could tell a million stories. About Benoit, the imaginary french man that only comes out when we're eating Crepes at Crepes A Go Go. Or about the Indian restuarant in Berkeley that has the most heavenly lamb (to the point where we'd both fantasize about it at work ... a big giant piece of lamb floating in outer space). About the goatboy that shook Ashley's hand, then galloped into the sunset. We've had such adventures. Sigh.
She's only going to LA, for godsake, only a mere 6 hours away, but it's been heartwrenching. You should see us, cramming as many activities as we can into the weekends. "But she's leaving," I say to my boyfriend after informing him that he'll have to spend yet another weekend without me around.
I wish we had all the time in the world, because all of our outings seem to end too soon. I wish we could have more conversations, so I could tell her that no, her legs aren't crooked and that her face doesn't really look like an avalanche (she's beautiful, in case you're wondering. Classic-like). I try to tell her things sometimes, but I cry easily and it gets stuck in my throat.
Even when we're 80 and sitting on our porches talking to each other about the feces in our depends, I'll still have a hard time explaining to her what she's meant to me, and how I would be so, so lost without her. If I died today, I'd tell those on the other side that I've met everyone I'm meant to meet, and that Ashley was the cherry on top of the sundae.
We'll see each other often, even after she jumps in her car wednesday, ready to travel to SoCal with her 15,000 boxes of books. And if she ever needs a warm blanket in the dead of night, or needs some TP cause she's out, I'll be in my car, racin' on down to LA with the Charmin.
love you, Ashley.
posted by Tro at 7:14 AM
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