we met in the summer of 2005 in late july. you were
younger, but you’d been though a lot. you were mature. we understood one
another right away. as they say, I just knew. it was smooth. easy. no conflict.
no problems. I immediately loved your little meow.
life was simpler then. I was in school. you could buy a gallon of gas for two dollars and seven cents. two dollars and seven cents! it was before anything bad had ever happened to me.
life was good, and you were always there. it was you and me. I may not have always put you first, but I always came back to you. and you were waiting. you waited for me. my escape. my partner in crime. my shoulder to cry on, sometimes in a manner of speaking and sometimes literally. a place of refuge and comfort. and of adventure. we went to Mount Vernon, Iowa, St. paul Minnesota to the tall skinny house. the mountains in Allenspark, Colorado. you went with me every Monday to Columbia for eight weeks until my mother started drinking milk. and then that was over. you were there when I bought my yellow stemless wine glasses. the night of the supermoon. and when I found out life wouldn’t always be so simple.
to me and for me, you were quirky, but consistent. strong and resolute, but never boring. one of the only constants. when I broke down, you waited for me to compose myself. patiently. unconditionally. you accepted my friends. you let them in without knowing a thing about them save that I had approved them. some of them should never have been approved. you met them all, and I never hid them from you. the one who loved Manchester United. the one who fell apart when I was near. the one who chugged red bull. the one who spoke Italian. the one with the blue eyes.
I may have left you behind from time to time. on Roanoke. in a parking garage at the wrong time. in loose park. I was wandering in the rose garden and I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry for what happened while I was in the rose garden.
you know my secrets because you were there when they happened. first kisses. last kisses. first impressions. I spoke them aloud. you listened to me at the end of the night. to my desires when I was tired or drunk—more nights than I should admit, I was too drunk to drive. on my birthday, after Fred P. Ott’s, after Kelly’s, after Todd & Ashlee’s. after two Kansas City Repertory Theatre fundraising galas and three Kansas City Fringe Festival opening and closing night parties. you listened to my prayers when I was broken. unabashed and desperate. my wishes and confusions and fantasies and musings and philosophies and singing SO LOUD to Lady Gaga and the Killers and Whitney Houston and all the others. you never judged. you took me to Banana Republic, to Overland Park Regional Medical Center, to Stonewall Pizza, to Evening Star Road, to the house on Sagamore, to the house on 87th street, to Truman to see Travis, to The Daily Dose, to the Spencer and the Copaken, to Francesca’s, to Latte Land at six in the morning, to Wright/Laird casting, and of course to Aixois. To Kurin’s wedding, to KCI so many times and waited for me until I returned.
some of my favorite moments in my entire life were driving home, with you, windows half mast, radio on 91.5, KCUR jazz in the night, turned up loud, heat high on my feet. you felt more like home than anywhere I have lived since that summer. you always knew just what to do. soft and welcoming. cozy and familiar. how did you know?
life was simpler then. I was in school. you could buy a gallon of gas for two dollars and seven cents. two dollars and seven cents! it was before anything bad had ever happened to me.
life was good, and you were always there. it was you and me. I may not have always put you first, but I always came back to you. and you were waiting. you waited for me. my escape. my partner in crime. my shoulder to cry on, sometimes in a manner of speaking and sometimes literally. a place of refuge and comfort. and of adventure. we went to Mount Vernon, Iowa, St. paul Minnesota to the tall skinny house. the mountains in Allenspark, Colorado. you went with me every Monday to Columbia for eight weeks until my mother started drinking milk. and then that was over. you were there when I bought my yellow stemless wine glasses. the night of the supermoon. and when I found out life wouldn’t always be so simple.
to me and for me, you were quirky, but consistent. strong and resolute, but never boring. one of the only constants. when I broke down, you waited for me to compose myself. patiently. unconditionally. you accepted my friends. you let them in without knowing a thing about them save that I had approved them. some of them should never have been approved. you met them all, and I never hid them from you. the one who loved Manchester United. the one who fell apart when I was near. the one who chugged red bull. the one who spoke Italian. the one with the blue eyes.
I may have left you behind from time to time. on Roanoke. in a parking garage at the wrong time. in loose park. I was wandering in the rose garden and I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry for what happened while I was in the rose garden.
you know my secrets because you were there when they happened. first kisses. last kisses. first impressions. I spoke them aloud. you listened to me at the end of the night. to my desires when I was tired or drunk—more nights than I should admit, I was too drunk to drive. on my birthday, after Fred P. Ott’s, after Kelly’s, after Todd & Ashlee’s. after two Kansas City Repertory Theatre fundraising galas and three Kansas City Fringe Festival opening and closing night parties. you listened to my prayers when I was broken. unabashed and desperate. my wishes and confusions and fantasies and musings and philosophies and singing SO LOUD to Lady Gaga and the Killers and Whitney Houston and all the others. you never judged. you took me to Banana Republic, to Overland Park Regional Medical Center, to Stonewall Pizza, to Evening Star Road, to the house on Sagamore, to the house on 87th street, to Truman to see Travis, to The Daily Dose, to the Spencer and the Copaken, to Francesca’s, to Latte Land at six in the morning, to Wright/Laird casting, and of course to Aixois. To Kurin’s wedding, to KCI so many times and waited for me until I returned.
some of my favorite moments in my entire life were driving home, with you, windows half mast, radio on 91.5, KCUR jazz in the night, turned up loud, heat high on my feet. you felt more like home than anywhere I have lived since that summer. you always knew just what to do. soft and welcoming. cozy and familiar. how did you know?
three weeks ago, I left you behind again. but this time,
it’s different. this time, I’m not coming back. and if I do, I know you won’t
be there anymore. I cried as you drove away. I can only hope that she will come
to love you as much as I do, and as fully as I have. my sweet lavender girl.
