A Thank You Note

Dear Ang,

I owe you a thank you note.

You used to send Thank you notes and small happy gifts all the time. As a grown person in the 21st century, it actually made checking the mail a pleasure. Inside the daily pile of bills and junk, there would arrive a brightly colored, hand written envelope that contained a positive message or a thank you. Just a random arrival of a message of love or gratitude that let me know I was thought of and I was loved.

Text messages would also arrive similarly – randomly and full of emojis and exclamation points. It might as well have been a voicemail, because I could practically hear her voice when I read them. They always made me smile.

Your advice was always (fairly) spot on – a mixture of positivity and no-nonsense sensibility that was hard to argue with. Take the photo. Go all in. Just book the trip. Make traditions and take time to enjoy them. Order dessert. Take the risk…. I think that the best bit you imparted to me was that “We all have baggage we carry day to day – you choose what you put in it.” After the loss of my father after some difficult years, it was the advice I needed in my grief…to carry in my heart my Dad in his happier days and not the complicated last few years before his passing. Not that I don’t remember – it’s a choice to pull out the positive memory first – to remember the good parts before the bad. That advice carried me through the deepest part of my grief. I am forever grateful.

So, Ang, thank you. Thank you (And Brian) for the unending support when we owned the restaurant,,,,I don’t think anyone ever stopped by more. Thank you for all the time spent, all the memories made, and all the memories shared. Thank you for your fierce love and loyalty, your infectious laugh, and always, always reaching out to let me know I was being thought of, and I was loved.

Above all, thank you for being my friend. I am forever grateful, and forever changed. I will miss you like hell.

Stuck

So, KG and I were stranded at Lakewood Amphitheater, and were taking a break from the music to brainstorm on our predicament.  We sat in front of the bathrooms, since there are only one set of bathrooms there, anyone we might have known who happened to be there might just pass right by, and we would hitch a ride back to my Ford Tempo where it was parked along side of Interstate 85.

The year was 1996, way back before  Uber, Facebook messenger, or texts.  Cell phones were super expensive then…too expensive for me to afford, that’s for sure!  And this was Atlanta in the 90s, so cabs weren’t that common, especially on the south side of town.  We had been lucky to get to the venue, since after an hour on the road from Alpharetta my tiny car had began to smoke from the June heat and sputtered to a stop in the emergency lane.  Traffic crept along beside us as KG and I debated on what to do.

Should we walk?

 Do you know how far it is?

I can’t make it far in these shoes…

We are going to miss the show!  

I spent a lot of money on those tickets to miss that show!

Our lamenting was interrupted by a head darkening my window.  A dread locked girl with kohl rimmed, blood shot eyes was inches away from my face at my open window.  Her arms crossed akimbo in my window frame, she smiled and chirped, “Are y’all headed to see the Cure?”

“Yes!  Yes we are!”  KG and I were practically in unison, in our words and in our desperation.

“Wanna bum a ride with us?”  With a side nod of her head and a swish of dreadlocks, she gestured to a Volkswagon Bug that was idling in front of my car. We hadn’t noticed the vehicle pull in front of us, being so intent in our conversation.

We locked up the ‘Go-Cart’ (yes, that was the car’s name…) and jumped in the VW.  I was all a twitter with thoughts of being kidnapped or robbed, but was eased by seeing the presence of only 20 something girls like KG and I.  “Hey man,”  I muttered.  “Thanks!  We really appreciate this.”

“Not a problem!” the girl chirped.  The engine cranked into life, and Lenny Kravitz blasted through the car, telling us us to Spread a little love and get high.  The girl in the back took his suggestion and fired up a pinner, which we passed around until 10 minutes later, when we arrived at the venue.

We raced inside and up into the lawn.  Our heads were blurry and buzzy in the best way, and  we danced and sung and spun.

“Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream, she said
The one that makes me laugh, she said
And threw her arms around my neck….”

We enjoyed the music and environment until I could not quiet the ever growing paranoia about the impending end of the concert and our lack of transportation once that moment came. 

So, there we were, halfway through the concert, sitting in front of the bathrooms, missing the band that we overheated and abandoned my car to watch, and searched the crowd for any familiar face. 

And, there he was.

I had not seen Miles in about 2 years.  He was my first love, and long time friend.  We had met my senior year in high school when I worked at a popular music store.  We dated that year, and he took me to my prom. Although we broke up (code for he dumped me) before I left for college in 1993, we remained friends, although it often broke my heart.  In 1995 after I had left university, we worked together again at a restaurant and hung out constantly.  There was many a drunken night where we would….. relive old times.  Despite those nights, he was always on the lookout for the BBD. (Bigger Better Deal…the prettier, smarter, easier girl Etc.) One night we had together I called him on it….and he had never returned a phone call since.

And now, here he was.

He strolled out of the men’s, accompanied by a couple of his friends and ex roommates and stopped.  My heart leapt. Could I ASK for a better answer to my problem?  Here was my friend.  Here was a safe ride. Here was a chance to reconnect to someone who (at the time) I thought was my great white whale.

A leggy blonde exited the ladies restroom, and skipped to him.   She grabbed his hand, gazed up at him and smiled widely. He smiled back.  My poor heart sank. It sank fast.

But I couldn’t lose the ride home.

“Miles!” I yelled, waving wildly. KG groaned.  She had spent the last 3 years hearing me blather on about him and was not happy about his sudden appearance back into my life, knowing her conversations with me would, once again, be ruminating over the relationship with Miles …or the lack thereof.

Miles’ head jerked away from the blonde’s gaze and towards us.  The smile fell from his face and his eyes widened.  The  expression on his face changed quickly from bewilderment to guilt. He immediately dropped the blonde’s hand. Then he grinned and corralled his friend group toward us.  He enveloped me in a warm, sweaty hug.

I did not ask why he hadn’t called.  I didn’t where he had been, or how he could just ghost me as a friend.

I hugged him back. I explained our predicament, and I asked for a ride to my car.  There was no way Miles or his crew were going to leave us stranded at Lakewood Amphitheater.  We would meet in front of the restrooms after the concert.  We all piled back into the lawn to watch the reminder of the show.

I sat, and spun. So relieved. So sad.  How can one feel all this at once?  Robert Smith sung to me, and me alone. An ache bloomed in the pit of my stomach and my eyes welled with tears. I let go. I let the tears stream down my face. I  let the music wash over me.

“.….And every time I try to pick it up like falling sand
As fast as I pick it up
It runs away through my clutching hands
But there’s nothing else I can really do
There’s nothing else I can really do
There’s nothing else I can really do at all….”

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