She had written me a card, slipped unseen into my notebook. I found it the next morning as I packed my bag for school. The words stuck with me. Forlorn.
That whole day, before each class, I wrote them on the board. So proud my friend could touch my heart. With just words lonely on the page. Profound.
On the walk to the bus that afternoon she admitted she found them in a magazine. Wanted to have written them. But felt sad when I had gone on and on about how great she was. I don’t remember my response. Disappointment?
After school we became housemates. Went to uni together. Shared essays, hitchhiked, cut each others hair. Tried drugs and laughed uncontrollably at how tea-towels bend. Together.
I loved her straight hair, her slow smile, the way she held a cigarette. I loved her sense of cool, her wild ideas, her ferocious abandon. Free.
Later I heard she was taken by heroin. Back then I didn’t have the wisdom to see her need to write those words. To show herself forlorn. Forgive me.
‘I have eaten the plums you were saving for breakfast.
Forgive me. They were so sweet and cold.’
Author unknown. Dolly magazine circa 1988.
From Erin with love.