R.I.P. My Dear Beloved

I’m so mad that you are dead! What happened? Did you not take your pills? I can’t believe this happened when you were so far away! You never take enough time to care for your body! What about all of the things we were supposed to do together? What about your album, never completed? The songs still ring in my head. I want to listen to them but I don’t. I can’t believe your Grandmother outlived you! And she’s at death’s door with cancer!

I can’t believe that I won’t see your ID on yahoo. Did you know that you were the only one I looked for when I logged in? Our last conversation was so mundane. I can’t believe I nagged you about wanting to see you again, and then teased you about being married to your bass, which I misspelled as base.

You left a dreadlock in my bathroom. At first I wanted to save it. It sat for days in my bathroom, just this long hairy dreadlock. I pondered whether I should put it on y alter, or if that was too weird and I should just throw it out. At one point I saved an ex-boyfriends hair–I wanted to see if I could crochet with it–only to forget I had it and find it years later amidst my yarn and knitting supplies–just this big nasty fuzzy ball, so alive it was like his head was underneath it, burried in the yarn. I picked up the dread and smelled it–ooh lawd it smelled bad! I love you, always have, but honey, the last couple of times I saw you you smelled really bad!

I remember the first time I met you. I never had “love at first sight” with anyone before, but the first time I made eye contact with you it was like a ball of lightening shooting up my spine. There was something about your smile, the way you held your head. You were chocolate and thick, with pentacles and quartz sown into your dreadlocks.

I could feel your eyes caress my legs as I danced, and by the end of the night we were standing close together. Your smell was the most heavenly thing I had ever smelled. You smelled of woodsmoke and ganga, the wild woods and man. Standing next to you I felt so warmed, so comforted, so whole.

We made a date for the next day, and like a good roadie I helped you carry your gear. You were supposed to bring the van around to meet me, but you got so lost that it took you 45 minutes to drive three streets distant. Okay, so you didn’t know your way around Boston, no biggie.

I can’t believe that I found out about your epilepsy in the worst possible way! I know we rushed into things, but still! It was only, what, our second time together?

I’m glad you reconnected with your grandmother, and your mother-even if you got busted after you had a seizure while you were on the phone with your Mom! I feel guilty about that. I know you said that the important thing was that you reconnected–but still! I’m so mad at you for being gone–just gone–one minute I’m secure in the knowledge that I can reach out and connect with you, somehow, and the next minute I know I will never see you again.

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

It doesn’t feel real.

I miss your lips. You were the best kisser, the best tounger, the best fuck I ever had! Your dick went so deep inside me I thought I was going to explode! Your dick was so big and shaped in such a way that it triggered my period. My cycles changed around your visits. For so long it was once, twice a month–then for so long it was nothing but text messages, then petering out into text messages and the occasional phone call.

Then just a month ago you texted me that your grandmother has cancer. You were in town visiting her. I’m so glad that I called you, and got to spend one last night and morning with you. I wish I had so many more hours with you! I wish I could have taken care of you! I wish you could have taken care of yourself.

You were just this beautiful oblivious person, with little more than fantasies of the future, and few skills but your amazing insight into people, your music, and patience. We were ill fated, living so far away–one broker than the other–me with my kids, you with your epilepsy and pot plants!

But I couldn’t let you go. I still can’t. I dug your dreadlock out of the trash. I slept with it in my hand. I woke up and it was gone.

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