Oh, My Little Darling

Oh, My Little Darling. 

I wanted to write something mushy for you. To lay in bed like a 400 lb beast and shovel cookies into my mouth straight off the spatula. I wanted to make a video montage of all of our most disgustingly precious moments, and make a small shrine around it in my room, playing over and over and over, surrounded by tiny pictures of your face edged in glitter and hearts, and perhaps a little “My Heart Will Go On” from the Titanic playing in the background. Lawd, almighty Gawd, do I ever want to do those things, BUT…

I can tell your eyebrow is raising dangerously close to your hairline right now. I can feel your eyes snap shut and then reopen with the fiery glare of a thousand suns, and the fury of another thousand women scorned. I can see the ends of your beautiful tangled curls beginning to look electrocuted. And with your quick inhale, I have no doubt your exhale will hold only the most eloquently disdainfully witty comeback I could never dream of imagining.

Oh, My Little Darling.1006008_10201660393937635_1811926755_n

But who shall tell them?

I have things, such important things, to share. And I need you to hear them. And I need them to know. You’ve spent your lifetime allowing me my silly, ridiculously irrational Marisa Moments, and now I need to ask for just one more, so they can understand. I promise we can make fun of all the Cosmogirls and sing karaoke afterwards. And I promise, absolutely, that you can tell me I’m tone deaf for the millionth time, and I’ll act appropriately offended so as not to deny you your kicks and giggles.

At 25 years old, there are four things I know for sure in this life. One is that it sucks. Two is that it goes on. Three is that Satan invented stilettos. And four is that people are dumb.

You see, for our little questions, we choose Wikipedia. For our more moderates, we grace Google with our presence. For the embarrassing, we wait until midnight to grace Google with an erased browser history. And for wisdom, we find the wrinkliest person in town, and search through their skin folds and crow’s feet for pearls of advice.

But when it comes to the good stuff – the dreams, the passions, the secrets, the holes in our pockets and hearts, the constant wondering of what to do with our lives? For those, we’ve chosen the abyss.

It doesn’t appear to matter which abyss is chosen, whether it be the sea, the stars, the heavens, or the heart, as long as our most precious gems are flung into oblivion with no hope of return, we seem to be quite satisfied, because hey, God promised to make us colorful, but he never promised we’d be the brightest crayons in the box.

He does, however, throw us a frickin’ bone every once in awhile.

It appears he looks down upon us mere peons every 75-ish years, feels sorry for us, and gives us something tangible to hold on to. Something a little closer and a little more sure than tossing our gems to the bottom of the ocean or throwing them at the feet of the star kings yawning boredly at us from light years and light years away.

And that something, we’ve named Halley.

Oh, My Little Darling.

I wish you’d told me it was you.

Once every 75 years or so, Halley’s comet becomes visible to the naked eye. Most people will be lucky to see her once in a lifetime, and many people will not have seen her at all. But the one thing we know for sure, is that those who do, will never forget her, and never be the same after she’s gone.

Because, you see, you must see, there is no way you could possible not see, that she is sheer strength and force and beauty barreling towards us. She is literally fire upon ice, as the sun sublimates the very elements from which we were born, lighting up the darkness for us.

And unlike the star kings napping lazily in the distance, she chooses us. She chooses to come to us, light up our pathway, illuminate our darkness, and embrace our hopes. She does this, and then, like so many others before her, she disappears.

So what is so special? And why does this matter? And why, My Little Darling, have I ruined your slumber for an astrology lesson?

Because she comes back.

And suddenly, we know that our hope has not been cast out for naught. That darkness does not mean somewhere else, there is not the light of her tail. And most importantly, that we are never truly alone.

When we felt her leaving this time, we were desperate to hang on to any last bits of her brightness we could manage, grabbing on to her tailcoats and keeping them as lit candles in the night. And now that we can no longer see her, we are afraid. We have cried out that our candles no longer burn, that her light has left us, that we will never see her again.

And we’ve never been so wrong.

Allison comes once in your life if you’re lucky. And when she does, you better sit down, shut up, and listen, because the simple fact that you have the opportunity to see her and feel her golden presence means you have been blessed.

I know you liked the sit down and shut up part, by the way. Once upon a time, you would tell me it meant I might actually possess a spine. But I never found the need for one before with you on my side. And now you’re there, and I’m here, and my soul has become so used to dancing with yours that we can’t stop now. We can never stop dancing.

Because you’re the only person I know that packs for Tahoe summer not with a bathing suit, but with three taffeta tea party dresses, that starts cooking for Thanksgiving in July, that gives me the little pig beanie baby when I’m too sad to leave, and that forces us to have reading contests even though we know you’ll always be the smartest. The only person whose mouth watering baking positively correlates to the amount of boy drama in your life, reads us Harry Potter with amazing accents until we fall asleep, who brandishes a whisk like a pistol, who calls the emergency grab bar in the car The Oh Shit Handle, who makes YouTube videos of me failing miserably at yoga, who can make Uncle Matt whither on the spot over the phone, who can rock a red dress at a wedding, who can guilt our whole family into eating blueberries for better complexions, who has the voice of an angel and the shoes of the devil and the pasta of a true Italian and the heart of a saint. You’re the only one.

But you’re also the only person ridiculous enough to make me gluten free pancakes in between rounds of chemo, be the life of the party celebrating the end of yours, hold more wit in your pinky finger on a gallon of dilaudid than most people could ever muster in a lifetime, apologize when you need to nap, and hold us while we cry for you. You are ridiculous, so god damn ridiculous, and fuck if I don’t miss every single minute of it.

Oh, my little darling.

Allison came into our life like a comet. She ignited the sky and our hearts and our minds with the sheer amount of life pouring out of every crack in her soul, bathing us in her warmth, and holding us close in the cold. She made us so use to having something magical that we didn’t know what real life felt like anymore without being supercharged with energy and laughs and tears of joy. She lifted us up to feel like maybe we too could do something great, simply from being near her, as if some of the fairy dust might rub off on us. She loved us all so unconditionally, embracing our faults, our weaknesses, our mistakes, all while lifting our chins with pep talks too good even for Rocky Balboa. She was the spine we couldn’t always have for ourselves. The big sister my mom never gave me. The beauty we could never forget, and the light we might hold onto for just a little longer.

And while we can’t see her anymore, we can feel her warmth. We can sleep soundly knowing that she’s only ever an orbit away, coming to see us again, laughing jollily at the fools we will inevitably make of ourselves. And for the rest of our lives, we can say, “I saw Halley’s comet once, and she lit up my whole sky.”

Oh, my little darling, that wasn’t so bad, was it? They needed to know. They needed to remember. They needed to stop being so scared. And you, you too needed to know that you were always our everything, and that no matter how light or dark or warm or cold it gets, that will never change.
Until next time, sweet baby girl.

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