Metaphysical...

Wednesday...

I'm a little tipsy, having stopped at Thisbe and Jen's place while walking the dog. Much talk of heartache, bitchiness, possession and poetry ensued. We talked meter and boys... and somehow the wine/time slipped away...

Somewhere in it, I almost lost touch with the meaning of today... in addition to being the Sri Lankan new year...

Today is an anniversary.

Four years ago, my amazing friend Meredith almost survived. But then didn't. She slammed into a vehicle (or a vehicle slammed into her) and she died.

When I got the call, I was drunk, as I am (almost) now. I went to work the next day, and my friends (all flying to TN to be with her in the hospital) kept calling me with updates, as I served up diner-food in Iowa, trying to decide whether to go. It was surreal... there I was, crying into the hashbrowns and chicken fried steak, weeping into the coffee... glad to have the distraction of my asshole grill-cook, and Annie to hold my hand. It was awful.

She was the first young person I knew to die. Still the only. She was robbed, and it hit me like a ton of shit.

Meredith Helton was a union organizer, living in Washington Heights and working everywhere. She played banjo and she contra danced. She had the coolest shoes and the reddest hair. She smiled always, unless she was angry. She believed in God, which helped me, and I believed in Mer. She was the person who'd stay up all night if the conversation was good enoug, no matter what the next day held.

Now "the next day" hold her, I pray.

Meredith, I loved you. I'm sorry I didn't call more often. If there's a reason to believe in God, it's you... that you deserve such peace, such beauty.

Heaven. Such things were made for people like you, if not to console people like me when people like you depart.

You are still missed. You will continue to be missed. We miss you, Mer.

Save me a seat.