sofie listening to me -

… and a 22nd: On Losing A Friend

Been raining since the dawn, as I began to hear the pitter patter of it outside my window, and so it rained all day. I find myself inside, admiring a refresh of the wee abode, with the harmonizing of my colour scheme and hence given me OOooooMmmmm moments of happiness as I pass through from room to room. Simple things, little things, but big things, like adding Ultramarine to each room, and BOOM.

Oh, and that zen vibe with a boho beat I weave together with a turn-of-the-century beach house theme running through each room, with those bright joyful tones and of romanticized future things, unaware of what is ahead, and we all know how that goes, but why we cling to that innocence even so.   

Yeah, one of those things, like once you arrive you are taken unawares, off-guard, as it’s not what you thought, not how you thought, as you thought, but, what did you know? How could you know? Or, er, what do I know, which is nada but the dream, the place, the thing, and it arrived and I didn’t know, didn’t catch on at first. Not at all what I expected. But I am HERE, at the crossroads, the heart of that once far off thing, all that, and giving myself an ol’pat on the back, as I’m close, so close. 

And so I decorate my life to keep the twin demons of loneliness and neediness at bay, with dichotomy and decor, feeding this deep-seated desire to decorate my life, making harmony, with a good energy, to take me through the dark winter months, but this time minus one dear element I had come to depend upon, and this post is an unposted post about that, and other things, little things I didn’t say before.  

From March 7th, 2018

dichotomy and harmony -

Almost from the beginning, not quite, but almost since I came back here to my hometown he’s been a close friend. Met him first on March 1st about 4 years ago, so that would be, what, 2014 I guess. We have those friends that feel like from day one like we’ve known them forever and a day, right? Something that connects us at this sort of grassroots sort of level.

Sure, D3 and I danced the sex dance for a bit, but in the end, I told him I could not be second to this on again, off again 25-year girlfriend he’d failed to mention at the beginning. Well, until I came over one day and there she was at his kitchen table looking all frosty at me. I had been invited over, she had not. Later on, he told me they had broken up. Then he said she didn’t mind, and then I said ah, nope,
kibosh the intimacy, friend.

But even after the girlfriend died this last July I still had no real sexual impulses towards him, and quite frankly I think his were just merely lustful, not trustful. Some of it for me is menopausal, certainly, but also there is this aspect of who I am today is someone who is much more interested in these relationships unhindered by sex. For a long while, it has generally muddied the equation for me.

Yet, regardless of his BS and libido, I like him. He’s odd, and I like odd. He’s different and I like different. And he’s a rare bird, with a fascinating mind, a unique way of looking at the world, frustrating as all hell, a bit of a homophobe, but I correct him on his flagrant ignorance. Wow, yeah, probably not painting a pretty picture of him, but he’s not pretty, and he’s not like other people, and he’s a good cook. I’m a sucker for people that feed me.

And a couple weeks ago he got his notice, he’s to be out the end of April, into May if he needs it, but they’re selling the place. Won’t go into the details really, but I’m losing a friend.

I don’t have great reams of them, heck, I have a couple pages, tops. I’m more of a quality than quantity sort, as well as hardcore introvert who avows people most of the time, a bit of a hermit.

Well, which is another reason D3 and I jive, he’s like the knight in shining armour of hermits, and oddballs.

And he’s just around the corner.

When I broke my arm 3 summers ago, it was his door I came crawling to when I couldn’t open up mine – even though I was angry with him for lying, again, for like the umpteenth time. See, I’m more forgiving, generally, of my friends now than I am my lovers, both of which are few. Well, the lover part actually is zero.

Still, he brought me home, opened my door, lay beside me while I moaned myself to sleep. Fed me beer and ribs during my recovery, in his messy kitchen whilst we listened to CBC radio and talked about everything under the stars, of bikes, and bars we don’t go to anymore, people we don’t see, things we know, things we don’t, who we know, who we thought we knew, and of our mutual losses, and our gains, small though they may be.

I rant on after work with him, frosty beer mug in hand, of annoying people I encounter at work, even though I know I’ll come home to dog pee on the kitchen floor, even though, I know. And he does the same with me. He listens to nothing I say, and after I’m done completely changes the subject, which I appreciate. It always startles me, but I don’t need the commentary, just the vent.

Once we’ve spent all the diatribe, we go on to other more important things, like the beauty and bother of John Prine lyrics, or nonsensical blather on whatever topic fly’s in the window, as I pet his dead girlfriend’s cat on the chair beside me, amongst the chaos of his kitchen. With the hole in the tiled ceiling, the scattered magazines, and bits and pieces of whatever he’s touched, picked up, or shown someone in the last few days, all scattered before me, like some disorganized scrapbook of his last few days.

Sort of like the brother I never had, or that childhood friend you forgot about from some other lifetime.

I am going to miss all that.

I don’t know where he’s going to go, and neither does he yet. Maybe back home to Sudbury, maybe to live with his two brothers outside Toronto, he doesn’t know.

We’ve known this might be the case since the fall, but I guess I just didn’t think it was real. It felt real enough that day I walked away, after him running out the door after my last fall, telling me to come over later if I want and pick out whatever books I want, as he can’t take it all with him.

And that’s when I realized what he meant to me, the tears streaming down my face as I walked away, and it seemed to come right out of the blue, you know? Just when you get that sense of comfort, that understanding of souls, and now it’s to change, and I felt so so very alone.

Yet, I’ve tried to find the bright side. Maybe the hermit life is getting stale, and I need a new gig, a new way to be, branch out, get out, join something or other. I don’t know. Something.

So I am not looking forward to spring this year. To the flowers and the trees and the bees, yes, but not the day, the end, those last days with a friend. He’s not going to the moon, not dying, but it won’t ever be the same.

4 thoughts on “… and a 22nd: On Losing A Friend

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