These are hard days. Some people watch goofy movies to feel better. I really like reading the Bridesmaids screenplay by Annie Mumolo and Kristen Wiig. Sometimes the whole way through, other times any 10-20 pages does the trick. Some of the scenes are inherently funny – the airplane freak out – but the art is in the dialogue and escalating plays between the dueling BFFS. The screenplay is brilliant, but it’s not helping now.
We lost a friend this week so suddenly it still feels like one of his dark jokes. But it’s not. The world doesn’t feel like the same place without our goofy brilliant funny sweet wild friend. We saw his bike, a bike just like his on the corner early this morning and looked around for him sure to bounce out of the bodega any second ready. His name is still on our lips like he’s only a phone call away. Why isn’t he?
His online presence is haunting, but it’s nice to read his voice. We miss our friend. He was special and we’re not ready for the past tense. This was a man with light inside of him and he didn’t need lots of money or fame to do the things he cared about. I wish more people were like that.
It’s strange to pass strangers on the street going about their day not knowing the world is different than it was just days ago. Another friend passed earlier this year, and at that time poetry brought some comfort because she was poetic in a quiet way. But there was nothing quiet about G. Everything is all off and it doesn’t make sense to seek comfort when you’re mad and lost. We would like to call someone to complain as surely there’s been a mistake.
You couldn’t get a word in edgewise if Dr. Who came up. He pushed us to read Dune, which I have yet to do. Sorry, G. He wrote science fiction, short stories that stayed in your mind for days. He hadn’t yet gotten around to submitting any for publication though he planned to eventually. He could play any instrument you threw at him, and he killed on the drums no matter if the band played rockabilly, punk, metal or country.
I wonder what it’s like to grieve through the lens of a religion. I wonder if believing I’d see him “on the other side” would make things more conceivable. He would wave his hands at such a thought, shrug and give us something to bang on as if it were possible to tell everyone in the world that there’s a gaping void where the good times came from.
We had some of the same dreams. I will do mine harder in case there is no “eventually”, but will never stop missing our crazy talented, fearless friend.