When I was 18, I had a friend named Michelle. We were the best of buds, roommates and even waited tables at the same restaurant. Regardless of how much time we spent together, I never got sick of her. She was wacky and unpredictable and courageous and vulnerable. We lived in a five-bedroom apartment in Milwaukee, WI with a revolving cast of crazy roommates and it was the quintessential party pad. On any given night of the week, you could find random boys crashed on the couch or the floor or the couch and the floor. I was the baby of the house by about three years (Michelle was 25) and I enjoyed a certain level of protection from my debaucherous roomies. That's not to say that I didn't engage in some nuttiness. I won't lie. I did. But peeps, I saw some crazy stuff.
Anyway, Michelle is who introduced me to Dude. She had dated his brother casually but had ended it when she got back together with her ex. One day, Dude and his brother came into the restaurant where Michelle and I worked. I expressed an interest in Dude because he was hot and she set it up. As I said, she was a good, good friend.
Michelle had a rough childhood. Her dad wasn't around much. Her mother committed suicide when Michelle was thirteen. To say this scarred her is a gross understatement. She was terrified of abandonment. She often felt that she was to blame when things went wrong around her. She craved approval. After her mother's death, Michelle moved in with her grandparents. Her grandma was very loving and did what she could to provide for Michelle, even though they were people of simple means. Her grandpa was the kind of old guy who did not show emotion, did not exude a lot of positivity. Even though she was seven years my senior, I was incredibly protective of my dear friend.
Michelle ended up moving to Denver with her boyfriend. I spent the night there midway on my move from Milwaukee to Los Angeles. We stayed up late giggling. She came to visit me in LA not long after that and we were as close as ever. Some months went by and I didn't hear from her. I called her but her number was disconnected. I got in touch with her grandma who gave me her current number. Michelle and I kept in touch for a little while but then lost each other again. Dude moved in with me in LA. We got engaged. I wanted to invite Michelle to the wedding and again I called her grandmother. Except her grandpa answered the phone. He said that his wife was not available and I got the distinct impression that she had passed away. I explained who I was so he didn't think I was a telemarketer and asked him if he could either give me Michelle's phone number or pass mine on to her. He said, "I haven't talked to Michelle in over a year. I don't suppose I ever will again. The last I heard, the cops were looking for her and they thought maybe she'd gone to Mexico. Good luck, young lady." Click. Michelle often had shady friends and found herself in wild situations - she'd even married a one-legged Jamaican guy so he could get citizenship (I'm so not making that up) - but I was not expecting that.
I have never again heard from Michelle and I can't tell you the number of times that I've thought about her. If I had the chance to reconnect with anyone from my past, it would be her. More than anything, I'd like to know she's okay. Today is her 41st birthday.
2 comments:
My favorite was going to Henry's in our PJs -- THE BEST!!!!
I hope that you find each other again. Stuff like that absolutely haunts you.
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