I wish to make a wish.
I wish a very Happy Birthday to one of my oldest, dearest companions in all the world, Marti Lawrence.
She and I have lost touch, almost completely over the past 8 years or so, and I find myself wishing also to replace the regret with action, starting now. Starting here.
I dreamt two nights ago that I answered my senior HS year homeroom class door (she and i graduated together, were class officers together), and Marti was standing there. I was not shocked in the least, even though even in my dream I knew it had been a very long time since I saw her in the flesh. She was not surprised, either. I was not alone, but I do not remember who was with me. I think it was someone from my present.
I smiled at her, and hugged her. I told her I was on my way out, though. That I could not stay and talk. I remember assuming I’d see her later in the day. She said, “Okay.” And then she reminded me that it was her birthday coming up soon.
Well, that day is today.
Marti has always been a strong person; strength in people like her, strength like that, is something to be reckoned with. If Marti said she’d get to the bottom of something, you better pray you’re not the one at the bottom of that something.
I have always had strong women as friends. Always. I have never had a fag hag. I count all other configurations of gender and sexuality as friends, too, but it’s the strong women…Soonae, Lisa Y-Z, Judy, Felicia, Jeanome , Lisa J., Lisa C., that I feel most companionable with.
I miss Marti. I miss her in ways that might require dozens of pages to describe, but in a way that you would instantly understand if you saw me with her.
She and I shared a love of Billy Joel, and there was no more beautiful a sight than looking over at her in my convertible, the wind blowing her blond hair about, and no more beautiful a sound than the happy joy we always managed to find and express.
There’s magic in a wish. I do not wish lightly; I do not wish with frequency. But she deserves all the magic on her birthday. And every day.