You once said,
“When I die, the absolute last thing I want is people wearing black
I want color everywhere
And a want a party.
I want stories exchanged about the crazy times I’ve endured
I want my funeral, one day, to be a celebration of my life,
Not the end of it.”
We sat on the metro as seemingly endless buildings whizzed by.
“But, don’t you want people, to, you know, at least be a little sad?”
“No, no. I don’t want that. I want it to be happy.
I want girls to wear fancy dresses.
And red lipstick.”
We drove all night on a Sunday.
It took us significantly longer than it was supposed to, per usual with my driving. But you didn’t mind, you enjoyed screaming along to the eccentric CDs in my car along the open road just as much as I did.
When we made it into the show, there was an undeniable, charismatic energy in the room. As the first chords were strummed, we were flung about like rag dolls, I grabbed your hand and looked over to make sure you were ok. Sure enough, you were jumping up and down, breathing the music, and blissfully ignorant to the erupting crowd around us. There was a high curve at each end of your red lipstick. I smiled in correspondence as I took my hair down from its ponytail. Because life’s too short to sweat the small stuff.
Or in this case, all of our stuff.
When we exited the concert we were dripping, literally dripping, head to toe in sweat. You said you were so hot we should go jump in the harbor, “Don’t tempt me…” I proclaimed as a sly smile appeared upon your face.
The cool thing about you, was that if I actually said, “Yeah lets go do it,” you wouldn’t flinch before hiking up your dress and running head on towards the Baltimore Harbor with me. You really lived every moment of life to its fullest.
After maneuvering my way out of my parallel parking job- er- your parallel parking job; I couldn’t back my car into the spot so you, without hesitation, hopped out of the car, moved me out of my seat, and parked my car for me. I watched helplessly from the side of the road.
We drove off, and before we inserted the new Mayday Parade CD I had just purchased to rock out to on the way back, we started to talk. My heart started to tremble from the stories you told. They were stories of a girl named Candy, the nights spent amidst chandeliers in the penthouses of skyscrapers in New York City. They were stories of summer eves spent wandering downtown at broken street lights, and attending every Orioles game of the summer with him. They were stories of navy blue typewriters, left on your desk, adorned with a red bow.
We connected in a way we never had before, and before we knew it we were both shedding tears. The thing is, I had never seen you cry. It was so strange to see you vulnerable, but I’ve learned the strongest of us often have the darkest pasts. As the tears dried, you told me about all the places you wanted to see, all the things you wanted to do. How much magnificence and beauty there is in this world and how you wished so badly that you could join me in my travels. I told you not to worry, and that your time will come. We talked about different places we would discover together one day.
When we finally made it back to Virginia, after a plethora of wrong turns and having to ask a cop for directions might I add, I stopped at your house to drop you home. I hugged you tightly and thanked you for joining me for such a magnificent night, and that I would miss you so much over the course of the next year. Right before you walked away, you stated, “I don’t know when I’ll see you next, but have the time of your life. Live every second. And you better have some amazing stories to tell me when you get back.”
Erin, I will never understand fully why you didn’t wake up on Sunday morning. All I know is that you have taught me so many beauties of life and remarkable lessons I will never forget.
We once spent an entire day wandering around the National Gallery of Art- you made me feel incredibly uneducated as you proclaimed a fact about every. Single. Painting. We passed. Nonetheless, I learned a whole lot about art history that day.
I was sifting my way through fabric samples in the art closet one day at school when you popped your head in, (during your ‘free period’ of course.) You immediately hopped down onto the floor with me- you gravitated toward all my favorites-velvet, lace… You told me of your dreams to move to New York and become a fashion designer. And I must say, sitting there in your combat boots, black tutu, and red lipstick, if anyone could pull it off, you could. You taught me that no aspiration was too big, no dream too far out of reach.
One Friday night, we dressed in diamonds and full length ball gowns. While everyone was looking for a basement to get drunk in, we put the finishing touches on our makeup for an evening of symphonies. I’m downright positive the metro has never seen more gloriously dressed teenagers on a Friday night. Right before we left for the orchestra performance that night, I was looking in the mirror and complained that even though I was in this fancy dress I didn’t feel quite ready. You walked over to me with a gold tube in your hand and generously applied red lipstick to my lips as you stated, “Never underestimate the power of red lipstick.” You taught me the power of being bold. The power of not flinching and proceeding with grace while holding your head high, despite what life throws at you. You taught me to move mountains with the simplest gestures and finest of details. You helped teach me to be free of the constraints of society, the setbacks within my own mind, and the free of the disappointments that others can often inflict upon one in life. You taught me to be free.
All I can say is that for the next year, while I’m traveling, you now have an invitation every single day of the trip to come with me. I’ll be looking for you.
All of my Love,
Kiri