Please use this blog to remember, share and honor ALL that was the endlessly charismatic Lindsay Rawot. This Cruel Summer banner was personally designed by Lindsay as the header for one of her own blogs.

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Some things never change.


I should write more often.  It doesn’t feel like two years since I’ve seen you.  I will confess that every once in awhile, the reality that you’re gone paralyzes me.  I dread those moments because I'm always unprepared. It feels like my insides abruptly drain out of me and I’m left empty.  It doesn’t last long.  You are an extremely easy resource to replenish.   

Last week, you were in my dream.  We were back in Durham sharing a room, a definite downgrade from our Belmont apartment, but we didn’t mind.  I could distinctly smell your morning breath- a familiar scent thanks to the number of times we climbed into bed together in the mornings to nap and chat.  I miss your musk.  It was with me the rest of the day.  

I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve been watching the Bachelor, though I don’t sense you’re judging.  It’s no House Hunters International, but there is a measure of suspense to it.  I’m totally convinced that one of the lucky contenders, Desiree, has stolen your legs.  During every rose ceremony, I see you from the waist down, as she stands there decked out.   It is the EXACT same posture you used to strike in the mirror right before we would go out.  Yes, during those precious minutes (read: hour) that you’d exceed me in getting ready,  I’d sink into our gold couch, cocktail in hand, and watch as you would stand in front of your dresser, knees locked, feet hip distance apart, face cemented in its 
overly serious primping stare.


Then, when you looked immaculate (as you always did), you’d turn, clap your hands together with your signature LAR smile, and declare that it was time.  I’d give anything for you to usher me out the door these days on a typical night out.   

I frequently toy around with veganism these days, and I think of you everytime I attempt to cook.  I seriously question how you got enough protein during your vegan days given that the fundamentals of your diet included smoothies, coconut milk ice cream, and pierogies. I try to sneak kale into as many recipes as I can in your honor, but only if its taste is adequately masked to your liking.  We both know it’s a pretty unlikable super food.   I let it rot often in my fridge in your honor as well.  

I still hate long tables during group dinners.  I always laugh to myself when I sit down at one.  We used to do mad amounts of maneuvering during the rush to sit down to ensure we’d end up near each other.  


Sometimes we would fail miserably, which meant that we’d spend the entire meal making eye contact and funny faces at each other at inopportune moments.   I still look for you at the end of every table.  

I could never online shop without you.  I still have so much to learn.   I don’t have the attention to detail. Or the patience.  Or the style that you did.   You were so freakishly good at sifting through page after page. Your laptop was permanently littered with at least 5 carts, filled to the brim, that you were in the midst of evaluating.   A week rarely went by without the arrival of a sizable package for you.  You’ll be proud to know that my desk job has finally made an online shopper of me. I partially blame you every time I pull the trigger.  

I feel like we’ve danced together so many times in the last two years even though we haven’t.   I find myself throwing my arms above my head, attempting to imitate your signature d-floor move.   

It’s a work in progress.   Every time I try, I smile so hard, because only you know what I’m doing.  It makes me miss you so much during the strangest times.   Like on seedy club dance floors or in dark basement bars.    

You’ve been with me during so many hard times in the last two years.   I know you were there as I went through your room with Billie last year.  An impossible task made bearable by the number of pieces of you I took home with me.  Thank you for saving the magnetic whiteboard from our fridge, literally as it was the day we moved out


I could never feel at home anywhere without you.   

You were with me in Maine the day I checked my dad in to the hospital.   You serve as a constant reminder for me to show strength of character and acceptance in the face of illness.   I don’t know how I would be surviving these days if you hadn’t taught me that lesson during the last few years of your life.  

You sat with Clare, Anne, and me in the pew that day in Portland last November- the hardest day we’ve faced since March 4th, 2011.  A moment doesn’t go by that the memory of you doesn’t inspire me to go any distance for a friend.  I’ll never, ever have a best friend like you, but I have many other best friends because of you. 

A lot's changed over the last seven hundred and thirty days, but you'll be relieved to know what hasn't. You are still my best friend and my soul mate. Things are still complicated, even according to Facebook. Your absence is a perpetual sting, your memory an endless smile, your spirit a fortuitous constant. I still miss you oh so much. 

Stay sparkly


1 comment:

  1. Amen. She's out here, too, and we're holding hands in this endless summer of a place.