Forty Eighth

Shelley.

One of the first times i met you, certainly the first time i was at your house, you told me that your mother was drunk.  I was very young and had never (knowingly) been around a drunk person before. I was afraid, and acted very stiffly around your mother as she showed us a card trick.  

For you it was a casual statement, an indication of just how different your life was from mine.  

You took me to places in 8th grade that i would not have otherwise been.  I learned to smoke dope that year, because of you.  We snuck out of houses and wandered the streets late at night.  Walking several miles to tape a joint on the door of someone who was important to you at the time.

Talking in your room, covering issues from coloring books to masturbation.

I was at your house the night your oldest brother was having a psychotic episode and was threatening to jump off the loft.

You were there during the time that i decided that having my eyes really wide open would be cool.  All you said was, "it's cool how i can see white all around your eyes,"  rather than, "Oh for god's sake, cut that out."

I was not cool.  You moved on to the cool kids.

You called me, maybe 5 years after we had been close to tell me your dog had died. because you knew i would understand what he meant to you.

I saw you, years later at your brother's funeral.  We hadn't been close in years, but i knew my attendance would please you.  It did.

The last time i spoke to you, you called me late at night, after no communication in 15 years, and told me that i had to read "Captain Corelli's Mandolin."  I haven't read it yet, nor have i forgotten the title.

Shelley, you were wasted.  You were so smart and funny and damaged.  You never had a chance.  I wish i had know how to help, but i couldn't even help myself.