And then suddenly, you are expected to go on living as if part of you wasn't just ripped out violently.
Tracey was my first real friend. She loved pigs, wisteria, tea, and Morrissey. Tracey was tiny, barely five feet and under a hundred pounds. Her hair was the most beautiful shade of red that I've ever seen. She didn't walk, she would glide. Tracey had a lovely little throaty laugh that I still hear in my dreams. She was intelligent and quiet. We stayed up late just to watch The Young Ones, 120 minutes and silly old horror movies and would wake up early to catch Pee Wee's Playhouse. She didn't do drugs, but loved a bottle of Boone's farm.
I was six days older than her. She hated it when I told people that.
One of our last conversations was about who would come to our funerals. We were just morbid like that, I guess. Tracey felt that her funeral would be poorly attended. But it was freaking packed.
I go to the grave yard as much as possible. Especially holidays and today. Ella and I brought some tiny white pumpkins and holly bush cuttings today. Tracey was so very good about going to a dear friend's grave and bringing flowers... and she mentioned more than once how important that was to her to honor our friends.
So I carry on.
Not a day goes by that I don't still think of her and miss her. What would she think about now? About the internet, blogs, ipods, me married to Hans and our children? Her daughter would be eleven, almost twelve. She would have been a kick ass mom.
David got off on Insanity. The last that I heard of him, he was working at a restaurant in Atlanta.
During High school, I would pick her up in my beat up old Volvo early in the morning. We would both have a cup of tea and I would bum a Camel light cigarette from her. Tra and I would sit in the parking lot at school, crank up The Smiths, and linger over one more cigarette while we made faces at the cheer leaders bopping by. Christ, how could they be that peppy that early?
In Tracey, I had a soul connection. I was so lucky to know that.