Gone Girl

I've begun this post in my head about ten different ways. None of them are right. None of them make any sense. My friend is gone and that's all there is to it.

To be honest, Ariana was difficult; stubborn as the day is long, fierce when she thought she was right (which was often). Outspoken is an understatement. She didn't care what other people thought and she wasn't afraid to let them know it too. And we loved her for it. She was our Goog.

No matter how insane an idea I would have, Goog was always right there, telling me that it wasn't crazy. This, coming from a girl who wore two different colored socks every day of her life.

Margarita Mondays. You Suck Mondays. These were the types of things that Goog did. Her art was beautiful; Her soul a bit tortured, as is any artists, though she never quite would admit to being one. Or at least a good one. But so many of us cherish the presents she made. The Suzi Blu faces. The myriad notebooks. The sketches and paintings. The blankets.

She would have been 34 today.

How is it possible that she is gone? The wave of not-understanding is still hitting me every few hours. I've holed myself up in my room, playing computer games all day. It's the only thing that keeps my mind away from the fact that I will never see her again. That she will never yell at me for doing something stupid. Or cheer me on when I'm being awesome. The last time I messaged her on Facebook, I was drunk on vodka and she had drawn a picture saying there wasn't enough.

I've finally started to be able to control my crying. I can let loose in the shower, where no one will hear. My room is a mess; clothes left on my chair and floor, still not put away from unpacking after my gig in West Virginia. It feels like months have passed by. Yet, it's only been five days; three of them without her.

My family waited to tell me about what had happened. My last performance was on Sunday afternoon. That night my sister told me of the aneurysm. The next morning, as I waited to board my plane back to New York, I got the message that she wasn't going to make it. By the next evening, she was gone.

I began the process of letting people know, making the phone calls to everyone who had asked throughout the day. Do you have any idea how hard it is to say She's gone. Goog died. ten times in the span of an hour? I hate being the one who always knows what's going on, the one that people come to for information. I didn't choose it. You'd think that after all that though, it would be real to me by now. But it's still not.

I looked up the five stages of grief today, to try to figure out where I am in the process. I'm stuck in number one: denial. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to write about it.

Yet here I am.

People are looking to me for some kind of wisdom, some kind of insight into this shit-tastic event that we're living through. I got nada. This is now the sixth member of our band family that is gone. I always thought that I would be the first of our group to go. I'm the one who lives life on the edge all the time, the one who gets up and goes when opportunity calls. The one without children, and no relationship to tie me down to one place.

So why Goog? She has Liam. He's 7. So smart and understanding. Inquisitive. Creative and sensitive. How is it possible that he's going to have to live the rest of his life without his mom? I cannot comprehend this.

The anger only comes at night (stage two). It is after 3 AM as I write this. My head has begun hurting again. NyQuil will be my savior. It's the only way I can get to sleep. Half an hour and I'm out. But when the morning comes, I'm back to square one. Laying in bed, wondering what am I going to do?

Goog would have told me to suck it up; to get over myself and get going. But for once, I want to tell her she is wrong. I don't want to get over this. I want wake up and this be some bad dream. It won't happen though.

So I have to listen to her. Goog is right. I will need to figure out a way for this to make sense so I can get my life in order. Just like she was doing. I will need to look at life and say fuck you when things aren't going my way, or laugh and enjoy it when they are. And I will need to stay true to myself and my path. No one is living this life for me except me. I will need to make decisions.

Is this the life that I really want? I'm not really happy in New York. But I don't have a choice as to where I'm going to live if I want to make it in my career. And for me, career is everything. That's the one choice I've already made. Being engaged twice and never making it down the aisle took its toll. Maybe I'm just meant to be alone. And this is when I hear Goog gently scold me, her voice in my head.

Someday though, I will forget her voice; how she draws out the vowels in my nickname Yv when consoling me, or clipping them short when upset. Some people have voice mails saved. Goog and I weren't really ones to talk on the phone. I do have a recording somewhere though. We were walking around a mall in Minnesota with Shanti. Liam was a little over 2 years old I think, in a stroller and playing with my phone. He hit the record button without us knowing. Faintly in the background you can hear us talking and a janky middle-school clarinet playing Christmas music out in front of the store.

This will have to be enough. There is no other choice; no go back and redo's, no just one more minute. Goog never did have the patience for that anyway.