My house was the house where we all hung out in high school. Mostly because my parents were night owls and didn't mind ten teenagers crammed into their living room, watching movies and banging on the piano all night (and by banging, I mean, "guy who would grow up to work for Elton John and Disney on Broadway playing goofy songs", but that is another story for another day). All of us coming and going, eating junk food (Taco Bell. ALWAYS Taco Bell), fighting over movies, playing video games, stupid hurt feelings, dumb inside jokes, endless games of truth or dare (which morphed into Truth because none of us ever took Dare. The boys really loved THAT game...). Every weekend, and almost every night in the summertime. When I think of high school, I think of that living room, all of us. Never one or two of us, always the whole group, every night.
And now one of us is gone and it doesn't matter that she's been physically removed from the group for so long, that we've all lost touch with her, rarely hearing from her, not even exchanging Christmas cards, barely interacting on facebook. She was still THERE, and now she's GONE, and that shit just isn't right.
And it is such a lame, completely hackneyed thing to say, but it's like she knew she'd be the first to go. The way she withdrew, the way she lived every single second of her life and didn't ever seem to waste her time worrying about what she was supposed to do, it's like she knew. Not that it matters, she'll never have her first child, or complain about the indignities of getting old or retire to Arizona or...reconnect with the rest of us.
And so today, I am sad. And I don't really have anything profound to say about it.