I just figured it out.
Shit. I'm an idiot.
I am feeling so fucking sad today. I'm just sitting here in front of the computer for no particular reason, listening to Carpenters and Cat Stevens and crying my stupid eyes out.
October 8, 2002, my dear friend Barbara Gay LaForge was murdered in her framing shop in Lakeport, California. She was shot five times and left for dead, which, in fact, she was before she reached the hospital.
We were friends from college days, when we were so broke and silly, and had so much fun. I think of her every time I watch Monty Python, or listen to any of a dozen music groups, or think about evening vs. morning light. I'm reminded of her when I think of San Francisco, or Los Angeles, or Mobile, or Iuka, Mississippi, or Jacksonville, Florida. Little red convertibles and road trips. We had a crush on the same gay man; I guess neither of us really stood a chance. Her ridiculous "foster" family who were Jehovah's Witnesses - she was so much smarter than they were, but she loved them because they gave her a home.
She was crazy about Clint Eastwood and Jean-Claude VanDamme, and she always said she was going to move to Montana. She owned about a thousand LPs, and when she sold her stereo to Lee, she got faint. She told me years later that she packed up and left Jacksonville because I was leaving - she didn't see any good reason to stick around after that.
She had given up so much of what she loved to be a "good" JW. Her theater group, her music that was "worldly" and inappropriate, her best friend who had already left the religion. I wrote her until I grew impatient with her silence.
I still can't fully grasp that she will never come to her senses, or give me a call, or laugh at another BlackAdder skit. I still can't believe that so many of my memories are tied up with her but I cannot reminisce with her. There is no sense to be made of her death, but I still keep trying to figure it out. It feels like I am repeatedly assembling a jigsaw puzzle that is missing the center piece, and each time I'm shocked and surprised by the loss.
Love you, girl.
I am feeling so fucking sad today. I'm just sitting here in front of the computer for no particular reason, listening to Carpenters and Cat Stevens and crying my stupid eyes out.
October 8, 2002, my dear friend Barbara Gay LaForge was murdered in her framing shop in Lakeport, California. She was shot five times and left for dead, which, in fact, she was before she reached the hospital.
We were friends from college days, when we were so broke and silly, and had so much fun. I think of her every time I watch Monty Python, or listen to any of a dozen music groups, or think about evening vs. morning light. I'm reminded of her when I think of San Francisco, or Los Angeles, or Mobile, or Iuka, Mississippi, or Jacksonville, Florida. Little red convertibles and road trips. We had a crush on the same gay man; I guess neither of us really stood a chance. Her ridiculous "foster" family who were Jehovah's Witnesses - she was so much smarter than they were, but she loved them because they gave her a home.
She was crazy about Clint Eastwood and Jean-Claude VanDamme, and she always said she was going to move to Montana. She owned about a thousand LPs, and when she sold her stereo to Lee, she got faint. She told me years later that she packed up and left Jacksonville because I was leaving - she didn't see any good reason to stick around after that.
She had given up so much of what she loved to be a "good" JW. Her theater group, her music that was "worldly" and inappropriate, her best friend who had already left the religion. I wrote her until I grew impatient with her silence.
I still can't fully grasp that she will never come to her senses, or give me a call, or laugh at another BlackAdder skit. I still can't believe that so many of my memories are tied up with her but I cannot reminisce with her. There is no sense to be made of her death, but I still keep trying to figure it out. It feels like I am repeatedly assembling a jigsaw puzzle that is missing the center piece, and each time I'm shocked and surprised by the loss.
Love you, girl.