My friend died. I just found out. It's weird; today at work I had a weird feeling about her, so I Googled her. I just had this feeling she was dead. And she was.
I met M in 1997? '98? Somewhere in there. I was working at a publishing company in LA. It was a huge place, and full of the people coming and going. But when she walked in on her first day, I shot right up. Followed her with my eyes all the way to her new desk. I was drawn to her, and I think I know why.
First of all, M was spectacularly beautiful. She looked just like a California girl should. Natural, platinum-blonde hair, huge blue eyes, skinny as a rail but with spectacular breasts. I sound like I have a crush on her, and I sort of did.
I don't remember how I scammed my way into being her friend, but I managed it in a hurry. She had that casual beauty thing, where she could wear a gray t-shirt and make it look fashionable, and I'd think, "I should get more gray t-shirts." And then of course when I got them, I looked like Golda Meir on her day off.
M was into all things pink and all things that sparkled, just as I was, and she was positively obsessed with my 1940s engagement ring. She always thought it was the prettiest ring she'd ever seen. That always kind of cracked me up, because her family was sort of rich--her dad was slightly famous, and she'd grown up in the fancy neighborhood in LA. The old-money neighborhood. She spent summers on the East Coast, at some sort of huge beach house with her whole family. They were one of those natural-fiber-looking families; she'd gone to a progressive, hippie, rich-kid high school. My teensy, charming engagement ring probably cost what her family made in half a day.
The other thing that drew me to her was our brand of crazy. It was the same. We were both terrific hypochondriacs, and she had this whole pill case she carried around with vitamins and herbs and all sorts of crazy stuff in it, and she took those 800 times a day, after her vegan meals, after which she was convinced were killing her, somehow. She was anxious all the time, worried about every last thing. I totally felt her on all this.
She was the type of person who'd burst into song at work. She'd dance at my house with no music playing. If you were a cynical sort, you'd be annoyed by all her lightness and joy. But I saw right though it. The Class Clown, over here, knew just what was up. I knew that while sometimes she felt happy, there was also a gaping maw of blackness just under the surface, that I have, too. I knew she had it just as I did.
The last time I saw M was in 2007, at her wedding. It was one of the last things I did there before I moved, was go to the Santa Monica Pier, where I'd been proposed to, and attend her wedding at the carousel there. To say she was beautiful was an understatement. She was a beautiful woman on any old day, but on her wedding day, she was magnificent. She and I always shared the same taste in everything, and I remember thinking her husband was hot. Her dog was in the ceremony. The wedding rings came from Tiffany. I was so envious of all of it.
She had a baby soon after, and put the three of them on Facebook with the caption, "I spy a family." I'm the only friend who knew that was a line from When Harry Met Sally.
A few years later, pictures of the husband were gone. I IMd her on Facebook, and she told me they were divorcing. Remember in When Harry Met Sally ( I know. I'm obsessed), when Sally hears Harry's divorcing, and she says, "I'm really sorry. No, I really am." and you can tell she means it? That's how I felt. I knew how badly M wanted to be loved, forever, by one man. And as gorgeous as she was, things never worked for her in that department.
I heard from her earlier this year, and I'm so annoyed that I deleted Facebook awhile back, because now I have no record of that. Her message was strange. She wondered if our old company was still in business, because she needed a job.
She'd left that place years ago, had had super-fancy gigs since then. And it was common knowledge that our company had closed a decade before. I was at work, and distracted, and wrote back something like, "No, hon, that place closed years ago. Come to NC! It's affordable!" She never wrote back, and I forgot to follow up.
I don't know how long after our talk that it was that she killed herself, but I do know the date of her death was February 9 of this year. I feel like her IM wasn't too long before that.
I wish I'd written her after work. I wish I'd asked, Hey, how YOU doing? I wish we could have talked. I know it wouldn't have helped, and that that black gaping maw was closing in and no chat from an ex-coworker woulda fixed it. I've had that terrible feeling before and I know no one else can chase that black demon once it's fogging your insides. I've just been lucky enough that it never got me.
I can't believe she's dead. Someone with that much light should still be here, to dance at inappropriate times, and hug you when you don't want it, and bring you pink flowers, as she did on several of my birthdays. She used to end phone calls with, "I love you!!" I'd always say, yeah, okay, goodbye.
One day she called me back. "You don't like saying 'I love you,' do you?" she asked. I said no, and if she was any kind of real friend, she'd fucking cut it out. She never did cut it out. "I love you!" Yeah, okay, bye.
Goodbye, M. My life was better for having known you. I promise to buy something pink and sparkly and ridiculous and wear it in your honor, even if it makes me look like Golda Meir in drag.
I love you.
