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Holley

April 1998

This is my last weekend in this great town that, in all its self-centered glory, likes to call itself Houston. My last weekend to gallivant in conceit around the mall and shove my hands deep into my pockets wishing I had just stayed home and laughed at the latest trend, failing to recognize in my haste that I am the latest trend. My last weekend to lay on the couch next to/under/on top of/around my best friend and sip tomato soup and watch infomercials for 72 hours straight. My last weekend to make long distance phone calls and take long overdue two minute showers, and be teased about it. My last weekend to walk around my safe quiet suburban life I like to call a neighborhood at 3 in the morning and wonder why everyone is asleep when the sky is so bright. My last weekend to sit huddled up safe under a Winnie the Pooh blanket grasping a half-empty wine bottle and staring blankly into the mirror until all I see is womb. Flesh. Placenta. A five-foot fetus.

In less than one week, I go to London for a week.. the day I return from London is the day I've been waiting 15 years for -- the day my father finally says "you're grown. get out," but in a nice fatherly way. The day I get to move in a cramped apartment in some low corner of Dallas with my sister and her boyfriend. The last day before I get to thrust myself and weave so comfortably into my new environment. Habitat. School. Find new friends to last 10 years. The day I plaster my new walls with old pictures of old friends. Old memories. The day I grow up. The day I do grocery shopping. Laundry. Pay rent. The day I share everything 50/50 with my nice big sis. The day the sister whose Barbies I would decapitate to revenge my melted She-ra dolls untimely retirement becomes my roommate.

The last weekend before the day and where am I? Alone.. at a computer screen at 2 in the morning wondering why I am alone at 2 in the morning blabbing to a computer screen. And it all goes on like that. Even the best friends in the world sometimes forget. They sometimes forget that they only get to see you four times a month as is and that after this 3rd time... there isn't going to be a fourth. They forget the ride they were going to get your house. They forget that they said they were going to call you back in five minutes. They forget that as you waited. 15 five minutes went bye.

They forget the lesson the frying pans and eggs taught us all. They forget that drugs are bad. They forget that drugs make you forget. That they eat away at your liver while they eat away at the worrying minds of your friends. They forget that drugs are only fun the first time in every while. They forget their reasoning behind it all. Behind that first joint. Hit. Line. Behind life. They forget that they do serve a purpose and they do make a point. If that purpose and that point is only to give comfort.. and to receive the same. They forget self respect. Dignity. They forget long heated conversations until the 24th hour. They forget the times when their boyfriends stood them up for that first line of cocaine. That first hit of crystal meth. They forget the thoughts that went through their worried heads. They forget that they aren't the only ones capable of such worry. They forget that there is stuff you wanted to talk them about.

Today I was going to tell my best friend that I like girls. But I guess that will have to wait until another time that will not come. Now I have to bite my nails. Worry. And pack.

Goodbye,

Holley
frostfairy@hotmail.com


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