Reunited... And it feels so good!

For Michele*:

Sometimes we store aware our memories with such careful forgetfulness. The way the red brick streets looked bruised when it rained, slippery beneath your footsteps. The spider webs braided into the nooks in the railings that you walk past each morning when you cross the Hocking River on your way uptown. Almost getting bit (twice!) by snakes on your long trek down those pockmarked steps that snaked down the hill to Richland when still groggy with sleep. Walking home after a poetry workshop, tight and bursting with poetry, stopping time and time again to jot down lines into the steno pad that you finally had the common sense to start carrying, pressed deep in your pocket, for those things that just needed to be said.

The time you were running late to class and some huge sweet oaf of a dog started following you as you sprinted down the street to teach. How you cringed at the bad timing but were afraid he'd end up running into traffic and so dragged him with you by the collar until you bumped into some construction workers who provided you with an inch-thick piece of rope that you awkwardly wrapped around his collar, having to pick tiny slivers from your palms later on. How you had to leave him with your friend Allison while you taught your class and how she laughed and said "Only you." But how you got yourself two free Ekoostik Hookah tickets from the fella who'd been looking for that damn dog for three days. Getting stoned at Lisa and Nick's and going half-heartedly to see a band that didn't ever really do much for you in the first place. How you struck up a conversation with the drummer and told him it was your first time seeing his band live and how he tracked you down again after the show to tell you that you made his night because, mid-song, he'd accidentally picked you out of the crowd and saw you sweaty and carefree and dancing, the music all itching up inside you, and how he was so very happy that his music could transform someone like that.

Then there's just people. Michele and her pixie smile that just lights her up like a fierce flame. Her imitation of your imitation of R2D2 that she somehow had to always bring up in conversation with new folks. How you clicked from that first moment you met her.

The devious and foxy redhead Marla who you still to this day are in complete awe of. Sitting outside with her at 5 am over Styrofoam cups of coffee, waiting in line with all the crazies for Ani tickets. How every damn thing you learn about her makes you dig her that much more.

Shooting pool with Allison and Michele at the bar--the time you shot against the drunken Appalachian townies, they kept buying you drinks and ogling you both, forgetting that they had to aim at the CUE ball first. Then giving you dirty looks because you must be cheating because you're kicking their asses. Waiting to see them get thrown out like Allison's friend the bartender says they do at least once a month, but instead finding yourself belting out the lyrics to "Black Water" by the Doobies with them in a half-packed bar, everyone turning to stare.

Other times where you'd be shooting pool and another friend would walk by the bar on his or her way home and then stop in to knock back a few beers with the rest of you.

The luxury of time.

Spending the occasional Monday morning driving three hours back to Athens to teach first thing, simply because you wanted just one more day to curl up and sleep the night away in bed with him.

Your first and second tattoo.

Your weekly bagel order at Hole in the Wall—"Sunflower seed. Hummus. Honey mustard. Steamed."

Sitting outside on the slate benches with Pavel. The small ritual he had of packing tight his pipe and then settling into the luxury of smokes and conversation, usually a critical analysis of some horror movie or complaints about some idiot student we had interacted with earlier that day.

And you just want to start shouting out names now: Tony! Elijah! Star!

People folding and unfolding themselves like origami birds in your memory. You open each up with wonder.

And then you remember why you don't think it anymore, it unrolls itself like infinity--too many things to wrap your mind around but it won't stop.

Those were two of your best years. You didn't know it then. And it still surprises you when you realize it now.

Each memory multiplies--there's not a heart big enough to hold all this. Memories drawn tight together like birds' nests of stolen threads and shiny baubles of cellophane and metal. Pieces recognizable only to the owners, if then.

You knew it then for a moment, right towards the end. Cried, then packed it away carefully, among Styrofoam peanuts and masking tape, unlabelled (yes, unlabelled—and this is important) and tossed into the depths of your closet--brought out once or twice years later and rummaged through.

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Favorite Michele Moments

The first time we met before TA training at OU and you immediately began referring to me as "Ani";

Getting made fun of for months because of my R2D2 imitation;

A time we went to Taco Hell together the first week at OU and you opened yourself up to me in this way that I was awed by--you were so open about everything and unashamed and I remember thinking, 'I wanna be just like that;'

The butt-warming seat in your old VW;

How you would always get all worked-up when I drove to our fairy tale class because I'd inevitably find a parking space right near the door and you never would;

Your damnable and absolutely infallible encouragement and support all through grad school and even now;

Our magnetic poetry;

Your Charlie's Angels posters;

The time we died your hair blue over Mandy's but it ended up turning a weird silvery color instead;

Doing whiskey-shots with Pavel on my b-day;

Your laugh;

Waiting in line for Ani tickets with Marla;

Occasional shitty lunch at the Oasis with Elijah and his infernal dandruff;

Our "corn" series;

How we took over the office with our posters;

Our Ridges extravaganza;

The night of violin-playing and merriment at Melissa's (complete with Steph's black bean Sockarooni dish);

Your dimples;

Fake prom;

Your spontaneous lady bug tattoos (and the tatt on your ass).

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*You know how we were talking about how the memories were so good at times that you're afraid to look back on them? This is the not-yet-finetuned writing I was telling you about that I'd done on the same exact subject about a year or so ago.

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