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It’s a couple hours later when I finally emerge from a self-imposed housework coma. Losing myself in busy work seemed like a good idea in order to give my racing mind something else to think about other than today’s news and the loss of my mother. Seeing the pile of clutter on my desk made the decision for me. Taking a seat, I wrestled through the large stack of mail and reviewed and managed the bills needing to be paid, papers needing filed or shred and then cleaned out my desk and balanced my checkbook. My desk is so clean and organized it’s practically unrecognizable.
Rubbing the back of my neck, my gaze rests on an old notebook I pulled from the desk drawer during my cleaning spree. The cardboard cover and edges are worn; the glitter and metallic markers I’d used to decorate it are faded. Such a simple unremarkable thing to the blind eye, but the treasures it contains are priceless. Running my hand over the top, the rough sandy feel of colorful glitter spelling out pretty words pokes my fingertip. I stare at it for a moment longer before flipping it open to the first page.
Seeing the page carefully taped to the inside of the front cover makes me exhale sharply. It never ceases to invoke an emotional response, which is why I’ve had it buried in my desk for some time. The pain of loss and longing hits me low in the stomach almost taking my breath away. It moves up my body, into my chest making it feel as if my heart is being squeezed. It proceeds to my throat making it tight and my eyes burn with the need to shed tears, but by pure will alone I manage to keep them at bay. Tracing the letters on the page, I breathe in and out steadily until the worst of the pain subsides. I feel the places on the page where tears shed from previous viewings have wrinkled and smeared the paper. One line at a time, I read the words I memorized long ago.
Finally, I turn the page and continue until I have read and possibly unconsciously recited the entire notebook, fingers trailing over the many captured words. I never stopped making those lists my mom loved so much – even after she was gone. Before, we made them together whenever she prompted or when I even suggested a new one was due. After, it became a ritual on the anniversary of her passing. I’d visit her grave, bring my notebook and pen and make a new one each year. With my back resting against her tombstone and the cool marble penetrating my clothing, I’d stay for hours. I’d talk to her. Fill her in on the latest happenings in my life. I never cared when my body began protesting the hard ground and ache of slouched shoulders.
Unable to continue and with one last look at the last list she made on the inside cover, I close the notebook and walk away from the desk thinking a long hot bath may help me relax enough to fall asleep. Before I can do much more than think about it, my cell phone begins ringing startling me. It sounds extremely loud after so many hours of silence.
When I see the name on the screen I briefly consider not answering, but find myself doing so anyway, “Hello?”
“Remy! Where are you, sunshine? Tell me you’re on your way because it’s getting packed in here. I’m starting to piss people off when I tell them to get lost when they try to sit in the seat I’m saving for you at the bar. I’m pretty sure one woman considered throwing her drink in my face, but the look I gave her for the thought scared her off.”
“On my way?” Wherever he is it’s very loud on the other end.
“You’re kidding right? Tell me you’re kidding. It’s our date night. It’s the third Friday of the month. We always get together rain or shine – you know this, why am I telling you? Where are you? You’re late.”
“I’m sorry, Oliver-“ I begin, but he cuts me off.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just forgot-”
“Remy, tell me what’s going on right now. How long have we known each other? You never forget. Not ever. Something’s wrong.”
He’s right, or course. Oliver is my best friend – my only friend - in the whole world. We grew up together, were next-door neighbors for years, and according to our mothers became instant friends when we first met. It’s funny because I think they were wrong. One of my earliest memories of him isn’t exactly fond. My mom threw me a birthday party and all the children from my class were invited, plus my neighbor, Oliver. I wanted a princess party and I remember my pretty pink dress, shiny white shoes and the tiara on top of my head. My mom made me a pink castle birthday cake and we had giant circle rainbow suckers that I thought were amazing. The party favors were princess wands and everything was pink and frilly – a little girly girls dream and boys nightmare. After everyone left, Oliver came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned to face him he had a smile on his face and excitement shining in his eyes.
“Remy, come outside with me.”
“I don’t want to. I want to play with my new toys and eat my sucker,” I tell him already trying to take my new doll out of the package.
“Please! I want to give you a very special birthday present. I got it just for you.”
I couldn’t say no to that, “A present?”
He nodded his head and grinned. I drop the package and return his smile. “What is it?”
“I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise. Come on!” We walk outside through my backyard and into his. “Wait here,” he positions me in a specific spot, “and close your eyes and hold out your hands, okay?”
Nodding, I do what I’m asked. My smile is large, my excitement making me hop on the balls of my feet. I open one eye to peek at Oliver to see that he’s standing over a shoebox, but before I can see what he’s taking from the inside he swivels his head and catches me looking. “Remy I said close your eyes!”
“Sorry!” I call back. I bet his mom helped him buy me a pretty new pair of shoes. I bet they’re the pink glittery ones I saw at my favorite store that I want so much even though Oliver thinks glitter is stupid. When he said that I told him that he’s stupid and then I got in trouble when my mom heard me. But even though he thinks glitter is stupid, it’s still my birthday and it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Even more excited now, I squeeze my eyes closed this time.
“No peeking!” Oliver demands.
“I’m not!” I insist.
He places something in my hands and I’m unable to tell what it is. “Open them!” he instructs.
Excitedly my eyes immediately opened and fell to my hands only for me to find a giant warty toad staring back at me. I swear to this day that when I screamed my lungs out in horror that the toad opened its mouth and did the same exact thing. We were both horrified – me to find the slimy lumpy thing in my hands and him for being there in the hands of a very big, very pink, glittery human.
The toad hopped right out of my hands and I screamed all the way through his backyard and into mine heading toward the door. My mother came running out of our house to find out what was wrong and I became quite angry when instead of understanding my horror she began to laugh.
Needless to say, I never saw the toad again or ever found it to be very funny, but Oliver still enjoys bringing it up from time to time. It took me a while to forgive him after that, but that was a small bump in what was the best friendship a girl could have. I helped him with his homework and he defended me to any boy that suggested I was a disgusting girl. In high school, I developed a massive crush on him, but he was too busy dating girl after girl to notice. Oh, we still hung out, but except for one brief moment, he never saw me as more than his friend or maybe sister. Actually, it was like I was his best guy friend or something. Not at all what I would have liked to be. Then or now, but I guess even more so today I understand why that was never meant to be and maybe eventually I’ll be grateful we were both spared anything but friendship.
We kept in touch through college and later when we both moved out of our homes and started our young adult lives. However, we’ve grown apart a bit over the last few years – at least I think so. A big part of it is because I moved back in with my mom, helped take care of her and shut everyone else out. I took her death horribly and Oliver was there for me through that but then we grew apart again after a while. I think he just couldn’t tolerate my unending grieving – he was ready for me to move on. That angered me for a while, but inevitably, I got it. I was hard to be around. After a while, he randomly phoned me and asked me to meet him for dinner and eventually, as the bonds reformed, our monthly dinner began. I’ve never quite been able to shake my feelings for him, but after today I definitely know that it will never happen. Well that and one other reason – her name is Justine.
I’m sure Justine is a great person; I’ve just never gotten the chance to really find out. She and Oliver weren’t dating long before she let it be known that she didn’t appreciate my friendship with Oliver. I backed off, but he’s persistent as always. When I blew one dinner date off, he insisted on making another for the next week. He won’t let me pull away and I quit trying, although I know he won’t be thrilled tonight because we haven’t met in a couple of months now.
