Was I staring at the almost-empty jar of peanut butter, or was it staring back at me? Organic, the label announced. What words could be made from the word organic? Nag. Rag. Rig. Okay, those were too easy; I switched to four letters. Gain. Rain. Narc. Rang.
Carrie Fisher wrote about eating peanut butter in bed in Postcards from the Edge….which was about a famous actor who made it really big on one movie. (One recommended rule of writing is to write about what you know.) I love how she turned her autobiography into a comedy. In the book, she’d sit in bed eating peanut butter. There’s a good reason for that—it’s the ultimate comfort food.
The yapper dogs next door started their daily yapping. Ugh! We had neighbors with a screaming toddler, plus the dad played the tuba. Frequently. Cyn and I would long for them to leave. We were so happy when we saw a moving truck pull up in front of their house one day. That one darling, adorable, fabulous, screaming toddler and that dear, old, tuba-aficionado dad was replaced with four screaming kids, three yapper dogs, two smokers… and perhaps a partridge in a pear tree. Who the hell smokes anymore, anyway? I’ll take that tuba back!
On my moving-in day, the tuba blared.
"I’ve been meaning to tell you about the whale that lives next door,” Cyn chuckled.
Cyn. Oh, Cyn. You were so funny, so silly, so much fun, so outrageous, so out there. Now you’re really out there. You were so…strong, so…amazing, so…alive. So… much for that.
I couldn’t even cry, I was so numb. I couldn’t move, couldn’t eat, couldn’t get out of bed, could barely muster the strength to go to the bathroom, which didn’t happen all that much because I wasn’t drinking or eating anything at all, other than the odd spoonful of peanut butter. My body started aching from the lack of movement, but I ignored it.
Cyndi. Why? Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?
Sweetie, I said inside my head to her when the numbness stopped for a minute, if I knew that in your heart of hearts you really wanted to do this, I would’ve held your hand as you went out. Okay, maybe not. I would’ve held your hand and called 911. You probably knew that.
You were more than my best friend. You were my sister by another mister. You were the love of my life, even though it was never a romantic or sexual thing. I didn’t know this until you left me.
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