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I found out that you died two years ago the day before my birthday.
I immediately looked up to see if I was in town for the Arcade Fire concert but it turned out it had been the year before. Time can be so wonky for me. The last concert - the last gift - from my despised (not yet pitied) second spouse. I had asked for the gift and sent the link to purchase the tickets so it wasn't that impressive. Nothing really ever was with us. Again and again, I'll lament that it was a case of settling and murdering your gut instinct "this is not right. don't do this."
But, I'll always digress while touching your balls.
you were the first writer that I ever met. Even when I met you, you were old - and you made it to 99! Your brain was fun, and I know if we had met earlier, we would have flirted with some consequence. Instead, it was so nice to play flirt with you. I was new to town and doing so much self-flagellating penance for my sins. You were a member of the rich people club I was so happy to get an inside look into. It was so boring and not at all enviable. Most of the m/billionaires were crashing bores. You and dunkspiegel were my only fun ones.
You signed a book for me. I think I gave it to my mother or sister. Spark knows spark regardless of the time. I liked knowing you existed. In reality, I wasn't blown away by the book I read, but it for sure had your voice so it was like talking to you a bit.
Because I was researching, I played AF's "End of an Empire: Part I". I was there, and I believe it's the last concert I've been to. Andrew bought himself a shirt, but didn't buy me one - didn't even think about it. He didn't think about me except as what I reflected back to him. That whisper in the night that made me think he really did love me that literal "I love you so much" when you had to think I was asleep (I've gotten better at pretending to be asleep than I was in kinder care).
There's so much ewe in this story, but maybe y'all will parse it out but am I even writing for you anyway?
What am I but someone who reflects glory - someone who sparks with the smart and shines light out of my eyes - but it's your light always. I'm the moon.
I miss you on this Earth. Even though I never spoke to you again or even tried - I admired you. You were different than millions and millions of tedious few. And of course my favorite part of you is that you liked me.
We all love rich jewish men swimming naked in epic pools, yet few of us get to be in those hallowed wet halls. For a brief moment, I was adjacent.
(there, I've finally written something that wasn't about you and it only took mournful death to prompt it. I think of you too constantly - so much that I'm now going to actively court distractions)
thanks herb for your work in Haiti. Thanks for that awesome biting title "a girl of forty". I loved you a little. you lived up to your name. bless your memory "your voice is still in my soul soul soul" ....
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