I was s’posed to escape this hell-hole first!
…I’ll miss you…
Anyway, goodbye and good luck.
Marc just moved to a beautiful loft in the Mission. One whole wall of floor to ceiling windows that look out toward Potrero Hill. His building used to be the old See’s candy factory. I love it, he loves it, and we’re both ecstatic about his new abode. I went over last night with a nice bottle of wine. As usual, he cooked, but this time he tried to teach me. “Catchee, if you’ve got a last minute dinner date, this is full-proof. All you’re doing is boiling water. Do you know how to boil water? Check this out.”
As he goes through the motions and script a la Food Network, he reiterates, “I swear this is my signature meal for when I hit the cooking circuit. This is going to make me famous.”
It really did look simple and it was amazing – all his food is amazing. I won’t give it away because it is HIS signature meal.
Sipping wine on his couch, he complimented, “Catchee, you look so cute right there sitting on my couch.” My heart fluttered. It was such a nice thing to say.
He brought out a huge box filled with crap. For the rest of the night, we dug through all the mementos Marc has kept post-college. He had movie stubs, phone numbers written on napkins, boarding passes, vacation itineraries, letters, post its. I was impressed and also a little envious that I hadn’t done something similar. Nothing was organized, just thrown into a box–a treasure trove of memories.
Every couple minutes, he’d hand me something interesting. A love letter from his first love. An endearing message scrawled on a notepad. A set of photos from a picture booth. Happy, lovely memories. Then, into my face, he shoved the card with the message from above. It was from me from our startup days. I had brought him into our startup and he was leaving to work for one of our clients. They had liked him that much.
Inside I had written:
Marc – you fucking asshole. How dare you leave me here. No fair! But seriously, you’re my best friend – I can’t bear the thought of your absence. Who’s going to gossip with me, bitch with me…Who’s going to give training?!?!?
Much to your disbelief, I pulled you in to Market-Touch not for the referral bonus, but because 1) I love working with you (remember those yearbook moments)
2) I knew you’d do a kick-ass job.
We’re attractive, we’re intelligent, and we’re so fucking cute! I will miss you terribly.
Thanks for putting up with my shit, for being there and listening, for being my friend.
I LOVE YOU!
Go out there and kick ass. And remember: there’s a friend at Market-Touch who believes in you.
It brought back a lot of memories reading that card.
You have friends who come and go, then drift away for some reason or other. It is really difficult for me to watch some of my closest friends commit to relationships, move away, start families. The phone calls dwindle. There are even fewer get togethers. I am not envious of them. I want all my friends to be happy. I’m happy for what they are experiencing. It just makes me lonely.
But Marc and I have travelled the same path. High school, college, work, San Francisco. We both had dreams of living in New York. If one went, the other would follow. We would do it together. That was an absolute. But instead, after he had closed on his home, we clinked glasses in Dolores Park, “Here’s to buying homes fifteen minutes away from where we fucking grew up.” We continue to travel down the same path which is comforting for two single people who, outside of each other, do feel alone.
We are forever friends.