The Fun We Had

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, "A Few Figs from Thistles", 1920

 

Today was probably the last time I will ever see a very dear friend of mine.  I spent the afternoon helping her pack her car, and watch her child while she tried to accomplish various tasks.  I danced with that kid, I swung her in the air, I tried to have adult conversations with her, I even let her try to scratch my tattoos off.  I have to be realistic about our friendship.  She is moving to New Hampshire.  Her life is going to be extremely hard.  She is brave and tough.  I believe she will be fine, and her kid will grow up to be some serious awesome shit.  Her blue eyes will break many hearts (as her mommy's often broke mine).  I can say I'll make it up to New Hampshire, and I will try.  My whole life I moved around, and have only been stable in the last decade.  I know we all say we'll try, but work and kids and money and relationships all get in the way.  Frijole and I are a success story of the long-distance friendship, but her life is not as complicated.  No kids and a husband with a well-paying job allows her the time to call me weekly and us make trips to see each other.  

Therefore, I dedicate this to JLM.  I think of  her when I read Edna St. Vincent Millay.  We had an intense summer a long time ago.  Only a summer.  It was too brief.  We drank and drank and flirted with the boys at Charlie's not caring one bit that every single one of them was gay.  It was $1 drinks and sweaty girl talk.  We dared each other and held our breath.  We cemented our relationship in a dirty bathroom where I'm pretty sure some guys were shooting heroin in the stall next to us.  We had our fights.  Oh, such terrible fights.  The fight of sisters--words used for maximum hurt.  I cried and wailed when alone after those fights.  I punched the couch and my heart broke just like when my first love at 16 broke up with me at my front door.  I fell to the floor and sobbed and grabbed his leg.  At 28, I was able to not grab at her leg, and managed to cry in private or on The Boy's lap.  We had more than one of these blow-outs.  Yet, we always came back to each other.  Sometimes it was days, and sometimes years.  No matter.  We get back together like nothing happened.  We need each other.  We understand each other.  We are extraordinarily strong yet entirely too weak for our tastes.  We are too passionate for our own good, and often confuse sex with love.  Our pussies are the boss of us, and we have such a hard time admitting that, but when talking with each other, we can acknowledge how bad we are, or at least how bad we are in our heads.  

 

She is a fierce lover and will not let anyone get in between her and her child.  She is moving back north to be with her family, because that is sanctuary for her.  She leaves behind two of the biggest douches known to man.  I want to kill both these men for what they have done to her.  I hate that she has been forced to leave town--literally forced.  By decree of divorce.  It was the only way to be the primary caregiver of her child.  Imagine that.  Seriously.  Some cunt of a man made her move out of state by leveraging their child against her.  Despicable.  I fantasize about beating him with my fists and screaming in his ears until they bleed.  Kicking and breaking his ribs until his lungs are punctured and he is gasping the most painful breaths. 

Today I was so angry on her behalf.  She had a great night--she got home at 7am.  Her soon-to-be ex had called her 35 fucking times when she texted him to say she was okay.  It was her last night out on the town.  The baby was safe with him, and he was pissed that she looked good and wouldn't stay home and fuck him.  The audacity.  The fucking pugnacious audacity to think that he can divorce her (without warning) and then expect her to sit at home, chaste, and taking care of their baby and not allowed to move on with her life.  He is a controlling dirty fuck who thinks he's the boss of her.  The only thing he has a say in is their daughter.  What she does from here on out is none of his business.  And if he keeps trying to fucking hold her under his thumb, I will find him.  He'll still be in Austin where I am, while she is safe in New Hampshire.  I hope he understands this.  

I have a talent.  It really isn't something to boast about, but it is handy when this kind of shit happens.  I can cut a person down with words.  I can size a person up in a split-second and know what that person's weakest point is.  I know how to hurt that person without ever really knowing him/her.  I can't explain how I do it.  It is terrible what I can do.  I've learned to control a lot of that raging anger inside me that allows me to hurt people with my words, but there is no way I am going to hold it back on this mothershitfuck

Goodbye JLM.  I hope our candles will burn together once again.  I love you.