LeRoytes

LeRoy,

Usually on this blog, I write to my friend, Matt Smith. But since so recently you wrote to me of the color of our friendship, I feel you deserve a bit more than a reply that's been run through spell check.

Oh, okay. Let's be honest. I don't use spell check, and neither do you. (That's "neither," just as the Mother in A Raisin in the Sun would say.)

There's a lot to be said about long-term friendships, LeRoy. I used to think that they were just for men -- like the hair color that comes in a box? -- but I'd also like to think that our friendship is able to do more than just cover unwanted greys. Even now.

More and more, though, I think I'm a bad friend. Or at least a friend with a poor attendance record. I'm a no-show in a lot of ways. Maybe that makes me a bad person. Maybe that makes me stupid and/or wrong. Maybe that makes me totally suck as a human being, but I still love my friends. They contribute so much to who I am. And even if who I am isn't all that good... even if who I am is a completely shut-off, jaded, sour girl -- that's got to count for something.

And I credit you with a great deal of that. Thanks. Or something.

I thank you for yelling at me when I become the Wicked Witch of Hell -- or at least making me laugh. I thank you for always showing me the reality of who I am at any given moment. I thank you for being more like yourself than any other person in the entire world. Ever. I thank you for remembering everything I ever did while in your presence. I thank you for never letting me go completely. I thank you for calling me names -- like whore, and bitch, and slut -- even though I'm not any of those things... most of the time. I thank you for being someone that will always mean "comfort" and "home" to me, even when those are the last things I really want. I thank you for not ending the friendship after that trip to New York City, even after I snapped at you for taking 60 million pairs of shoes. (I instantly forgave you for that when I refused to help you carry the bags back to the bus through the Greyhound station.) I thank you for getting in trouble and staying out of trouble with me throughout our adolescence -- depending on the circumstances. I thank you for never letting my head get too big. (I admit to an ego, but it's significantly deflated when you're around. You keep me in check.) I thank you for letting me be me.

And because of all that I'm thankful for, I feel that I should apologize for breaking that desk that one time in high school.

Love,
Ophelia