Reverb ’13 Day 4: Grieving
What have you lost? What are you grieving?
I should have seen it coming. I really should have. I should have seen the change, the shift, the evolution, of someone I knew into someone I didn’t care to know at all. I should have called out the warning signs and noticed the white lies, the spin that her stories began to take on. I should have seen it coming, and stopped that train in its tracks, but instead, I blundered on, and let that train hit me, head on. I can’t even say that I’m grieving, because the anger is still alive and real.
And so, an open letter to a friend de-friender:
It was instant, when we met you, the friendship; a forever thing, a don’t-let-go thing, a you-are-ours-always thing. You balanced us and added that mindfulness and buoyancy that our bodies were somehow incapable of producing. Your giggle, that giggle, was contagious, and the medicine for all that ailed. You gave us the hippy dance and art and an easy, natural beauty that we envied. You were quiet and reserved and careful with your thoughts, and that forced us both to listen harder; it made us better. I loved you then and I love you now but you are not you anymore and all I can think to say, is FUCK. YOU.
Fuck you for vanishing into thin air like the 13 years past were mere days, and insignificant. Fuck you for hiding behind social media and letting it do the nasty work for you. Fuck you for disappearing that night, leaving me stranded and drunk so that you could do the dirty, and then leaving me to break the news to the broken heart you’d left on the line. For flaking out for a swinging dick and not having the balls yourself to OWN UP TO IT. For not listening to WHY I had to cancel. For making me pull up short when I begin to dial your number to share news. For lying. For abandoning. For sins against sisterhood. FUCK. YOU.
Some day the anger will vanish, I’m sure, and I’ll paint over the shadow on the wall where our picture hung. There will be a throw rug and an end table decorating the spot in my heart that was held for you and maybe even a candle in memoriam. My thoughts will wander over you and the scab will be gone and your face will be filtered through light. The hurts will fade out and the laughter will remain in the rose-colored light of time. But for now, there’s a crevasse and a furrow in my brow, and this middle finger’s for you.