Monday, October 31, 2005

Spirals and Shiny things for the Reverend

I am going to toot my own horn. This is not entirely true, but as you all know, I will segue into something completely different which is of course always the point. But as we must begin in this manner, let us begin with the beginning. Where was I. Ah yes. For all of the grief I get from you people I think you should know how much I rock. And why exactly do I rock you ask. No, you're not asking because you already know. I did the unthinkable.

I helped clean LDS's apartment. No I am not referring to the Latter Day Saints. I am referring to the one and only Reverend B. My dear friend of nine years. Funny story about that friendship. It goes a little something like this...once upon a time I met this phenomenal writer. Back then he was Dr Krazylegs and boy were his legs crazy. We met in the park and he read to me from a Steven Jessie Bernstein book and showed me his artwork and talked about the sunlight shining on my nose.

And I was absolutely terrified. Because I had never in my life met anyone quite like him.

I still haven't. But I am no longer terrified.

And because I am who I am I once tried to run away from this wonderful human being. I ran fast. And I was in better shape in those days so I could really move. I created all sorts of new math to keep distance between us. I told him that I didn't like orange juice and hated reading the Sunday newspaper. I refused to borrow books.

But he never gave up on me. He still hasn't.

And I kept talking and peering around corners and together we dug holes so vast and wide and filled them with beautiful things.

I have now let go of the new math. And yes, I have admitted that I like orange juice. I recently even borrowed a book. And it doesn't matter how crazy I am, he is always lending his support. He is never jealous of other friendships like other folks I have known. He constantly helps me find the balance between not taking myself too seriously and knowing exactly when to take myself seriously. He cares about what I have to say, even when I don't seem to care that much. And he doesn't take any of my bullshit either. Except every once in a while he allows me to think that I have gotten away with something spectacular. He knows that eventually I will get it.

But I digress. We were talking about the once doctor now reverend's apartment that needed cleaning like a hooker needs stiletto heels. For those of you who have seen his apartment you know this is no small task. It was frightening. But I made it through. Alive. Unscathed. No scabies either.

Seriously. This is one of those things. One of those things that I felt so happy to be able to do for someone who has been there despite miscellaneous moments of our own individual insanity. Now of course I probably know much more about this fine young man than I did previously. However I am grateful to see it all in its imperfect perfection. Unless he decides to cut his own hair in the bathroom again. Geesh.

And as I write this, my dear friend is moving. Far. Okay not that far, but pretty damn far. He has a new career ahead of him that will enable him to leave a truly permanent mark on the world. His art will now be seen far and wide. And as saddened as I am by his departure, I couldn't be more proud or more thrilled at how far he has traveled down this wonderfully mysterious road. He will not need luck, but I will think of him when I see the night's first star. I will pause and ponder at wishing wells.

And in this moment, I can only say to him, if that road should require you to travel in twists and turns in cavernous ways, I will be here with a shovel and we can dig our own path below ground. I love you man. Always.