Dear Michelle

Dear Michelle,

I went to Carnegie Hall tonight. Thought of the old joke: how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice. The guy tonight had obviously been paying attention, his technical mastery was verging on virtuosity, if not quite there. Arcadi Volodos, on piano.

The show came like a bolt out of the blue, kinda like the news about you did. I got a call at 5, while I was at work, saying "I've got two tickets to Carnegie Hall tonight, wanna come?" and I said "umm, let me check with my boss." I told my boss a mere 5 minutes before I bolted out of there. I just had to go. I mean, I actually cried at work today. Left the office and took a quick break at the park across the street, but I cried when I didn't have work to stare at. So when these tickets came out of the blue 15 minutes after that, I took it as a sorta sign that you were out there looking down briefly and had decided that the least I could do was something out of the ordinary, and go see a music performance. That this was how I should grieve, because I can't make it to your funeral. You were always involved in music, and heck, I met you through friends who I did musical theater with. I was always surprised you weren't in it with us, but glad too, because we'd've never gotten together if we were, too incestuous.

I did take those tickets as a sign, though. In spite of work pressures (we're on a deadline and every two hours more I can work is helpful), I also know that I was next to useless I was so fidgety by 7 when I finally just grabbed my coat and walked out the door. Hearing the news when I woke up this morning really just grabbed me by the throat and I've been choked up ever since.

You know, I never did get to see you perform. In the whole time we dated, you were working on your voice, and I never took the time to listen. I found a copy of one of your voice rehersals at the end of that David Byrne tape you made me years ago. Not only was your singing voice on there, but so was your laugh. Nostalgia hits like a ton of bricks.

We haven't spoken enough in the last few years, so that email that you sent me out of the blue the other day was sort of a shock. That you were dreaming of my senior prom also surprised me. One particular thing you said stuck in my mind: that you "felt like reaching out to say hey to a familiar time." I didn't respond, it was in my "to do over the weekend" pile. That line in particular made me worry that something was up. Was it? I have no idea. I'm told that we're still waiting to hear what actually happened.

There's a heaviness in my heart where there used to be lightness. All the great stories I could look back and say "well I once had a girlfriend who..." still hold, but I have to look back on those with a tinge of sadness now. I'd hoped to see you again sometime, not anytime soon, maybe three or four years, and say hi, and catch up on each others lives. Apparently that's not going to be possible.

It's really strange thinking that you're gone. I'm still coming to grips with it. I half expect Jason to email me and say "whoops, big mistake, it was a different Michelle" but somehow, I don't see that happening.

I've started to overthink things - I mean, stuff happens. But I've thought to myself a few times today: what if I'd emailed you back? What if I'd taken the fifteen seconds a "hey, really busy, will talk soon" email would take? Would that have changed things? Would it have been the butterfly wing flap that changed the weather in ecuador? How naive and self centered to think so, I know. But still, it gives me an outlet, a direction, somthing to point at that maybe I could have done. Shit, maybe I could have been less brutal about our breakup. I recognize that I was obnoxious about it, I've already admitted that to you. I'm still sorry.

I hope I did the right thing by going to the Volodos concert. It just struck me as the sort of thing you'd approve of - no sitting around sad, just beautiful music in the worlds nicest theater.

I miss you.

Love,
-Jonathan

P.S. I found the picture of us from my prom that I always think of when I think of you. And I will never forget the funions you made me stop for on the way to postprom. Hadda have your funions.

Posted by Swerdloff at November 15, 2000 11:14 PM