Mick, Arica and Chris are never at a loss for friends- their home radiates both warmth and madness, and is constantly filled to the brim with artists of every imaginable kind. I've never met so many phenomenally gifted people in one place in my life, and the open-door policy at The Nest meant a guaranteed warm fuzzy holiday. I picked my friend Chelsea up in North Hollywood on the way, and we headed on over to greet our friends at the dinner. Since I was moving soon, I brought the entire contents of my fridge over to donate.
Placing the Trader Joe's bags down and shedding a jacket meant a solid 15 minutes of hugging. Not the typical gladhanding you'll see at most parties, but genuine coming-up-for-air love amongst people I'll love my whole life long. One of these people, Aaron, arrived shortly after we did, and we all passed a pair of matching hamsters around the dinner table and drank wines no one's ever heard of.
The residents of The Nest had pasted a large macabre paper turkey on the wall, and Arica handed each of us a construction paper feather to write on.
"Write down what you're thankful for, and we'll give the turkey a tail," she instructed.
We did so, and then, after a round of introductions from our Hostess, we commenced to reading the feathers out loud.
I had two favorites that night:
One girl, who'd had more than her share of wine, mentioned that "she loved us, and she was coming for us."
A pause.
"Like, sexually, or like a stalker?" Chelsea asks as the room exploded with laughter.
Since most of us were too drunk to read our own handwriting, Arica took over and collected feathers from the remaining participants. Several people, independent of one another, had written that they were thankful for Batman and breasts. Arica read one, trying to make out the scrawl...
"Batman... Shit- ...Tits?"
I found this hilarious, and decided that Shit-tits was surely the most awful nickname possible.
Aaron was talking over a group of people at Aaron-volume, which is always a delightful 11.
I wanted his attention.
"Aaron..."
Nothing.
"Aaron!"
Still nothing.
"Hey Shit-Tits!"
He turned toward me, finally hearing. "Yeah?"
Ohhh god I almost peed.
Chelsea and I had spent most of the night trying to keep Aaron from drinking an entire bottle of grenadine, so this temporary new nickname gave us a lot of post-grenadine-passive aggressive pleasure.
At some point, John and Elissa showed up, having split their night by spending the first half at a karaoke competition to support our friend Kyle. It was a big night for Kyle, and I'd been torn as to whether to attend the dinner or the show, but somehow John and Elissa wormholed it and made it to both.
Arica continued to read feathers.
John, ever clever, deftly whipped out a rhyming ode to The Nest and our friends.
Aaron had written something charictaristically profound and touching, about how our friendships had changed him. In Latin. (Showoff.)
Chelsea had devoted hers to her love of her friends as well.
Batman and tits were touched on again.
No one noticed that my feather was omitted- I'd done so myself by folding it into a tiny square and hiding it in my pocket while Arica was collecting them.
How could I express all my love for these people on a single paper feather?
I'd written my Thankfulness down.
I could've written about the time Arica and Aaron showed up at my doorstep to tuck me in after some melodramatic post of mine on FaceBook.
I could've written about the time Aaron and Sean held me on the couch while I sobbed because no one would check my moles on my back for cancer, and how Aaron had sung the theme song to "Dif'rent Strokes" and made me laugh though my tears.
I could've written about the time Aaron pulled me aside at my own party and encouraged me to look at my friend's faces. "Next time you wanna call Jay, call one of us instead," he said.
Instead, I wrote this:
"I'm thankful that the night I put a bottle's worth of pills in my mouth, I thought about you guys instead."
I would not have been around for Turkey and stuffing that night if it were'nt for the very people I was sharing it with. They have each, in their own way, saved me from myself and pulled me out of the black.
I treasure my friends with every beat of my heart- because the day I longed for it to stop, they filled it to capacity and refused to let me quit.
But that sort of sentimentality was too heavy for the evening. Too much weight for a feather to bear. So I kept it in my pocket and enjoyed the night, basking in the warm glow of wine, Batman, and Shit-tits.
...Then my phone rang.
It was Kyle.
He wasn't calling to revel from his win at the competition, like I thought- he was actually calling with a serious concern: one of us was missing.
Kyle's roommate Erik had just gone through a really rough time and been forced to go find work in San Francisco. As he was our friend, too, and for all intents and purposes my drinking buddy, we were all sad to see him go. We'd kept in touch, but no one had had contact with him for about two weeks. He hadn't updated his facebook page. His phone was shut off. Erik had not shown up to work or come home for three days, and his SF roommates were worried enough to call the police. They also called Kyle, who called me.
I gathered John and Elissa, Aaron and Chelsea, and we headed immediately to Kyle's.
He was more than a little rattled.
Kyle had only that day begun to pack Erik's belongings to send up North to him, since a new roommate was moving into Erik's spot.
"I just feel so guilty," he explained as he paced his apartment.
Kyle didn't want to be alone with Erik's Box of Stuff. Kyle and Erik were really close, and Kyle was legitimately freaking out.
He was scouring FaceBook when we arrived.
Someone had apparently instructed Erik's ex-girlfriend to start calling local hospitals, and when that didn't pan out, she began calling morgues.
We got really worried- Erik is a great guy, but he likes to drink and he has a mouth on him. Our minds were spinning with possibilities.
Most of them bleak.
I hate to admit it, but I assumed the worst- I had a horrible feeling that Erik was somewhere in the bay- my own dark secrets sat heavily on a folded up feather in my pocket, and I was terrified that we hadn't been there when Erik needed us the most...
Kyle is a Guy's Guy- or at least has those tendencies. He'll drink beer and watch his beloved Raiders and eat his share of hot wings, but at heart he's an artist as well and pretty susceptible to freaking out, like the rest of us. A lot of residual feelings of unresolved issues with Erik, stress, and guilt were foaming up in him, and we could see it in his eyes.
Naturally, we tried our best to remain positive. There was a cigarette run and a case of beer purchased, with all 6 of us in a car meant for 5, but we were determined to be supportive.
Chelsea and I were in the middle of soliciting duck pics from our guy friends (see the "GingerWolf" blog for more on that) when Kyle stopped us.
"Can we just listen to this for a moment- just for a second?"
The Beatles' "Hey Jude" came pouring out of Kyle's computer speakers as he sat in his chair.
"It's Erik's favorite..." he explained, needlessly, as Paul McCartney began to sing.
"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain."
As the song played, we sat motionless and silent.
"It's the fool who plays it cool."
Kyle broke down, lowering his head to his chest and burying his face in his hands.
"The movement you need is on your shoulder."
And so were we- on Kyle's shoulder, there, with him.
I don't know how the five of us bamf'd into place, but we formed this protective ring around our friend- something Chelsea would later describe as a Cuddle Puddle.
"Let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin."
As if my heart had never been broken before, it broke again that night for Kyle. Each of us had tears in their eyes as we ached for our friend.
"Take a sad song and make it better."
We held Kyle, almost trying to physically absorb his hurt and spread the burden amongst us. We all held him close and tight while he wept for his friend. Our friend. We were so scared and so fiercely protective at that moment, each realizing the fragility of life.
One of us was missing. Cling tightly to those you love.
The song repeated a few times as we held each other.
"Na, na na na na na naaaaa," came the chorus.
We all prayed for Erik's safe return.
"Hey Jude."
Since my roommate had become a creeper (please read "The Creeper- part 2: And The Darkness) and Kyle didn't want to spend any time alone where Erik used to be, I invited him to spend the night at my place with me and Chelsea. I like to think sharing a bed with a blonde and a redhead helped take his mind off things for a while.
The next day was my last day to pack, and my next-to-last-day in town. Erik was on my mind as I gathered up my belongings and said my "see ya laters." I couldn't bear to tell anyone "goodbye."
That night my core group was meeting at a bar, but since Aaron was 20 at the time, he couldn't go.
I scheduled some time for him to meet me at my place so I could get a one-on-one chance to say what we needed to say. He showed up, right on time, like he always does, wearing his long black coat and his cake-stomping boots.
Aaron has dark black hair and even blacker eyes, which absorb everything and spit it back out with some sardonic twist. He held me tight and I wondered if he knew that he'd saved my life.
A while back, a Cinematographer had given me a Himmelschlantern, which I'd refrained from packing several times to have it at the ready- it's a candle-lantern, which fills up with the hot air from a candle, and lifts up, glowing away into the sky. I'd been saving it for a special occasion- first, for an LA Anniversary with Jay that never happened. Then, perhaps to send my wedding rings off in style. But no, tonight was the night- to convey the things I could not say, and to send off a message of love and hopefulness into the sky.
Aaron and I carefully removed the packaging, careful not to tear the blue paper which made up the skin of the lantern.
"Making to two pieces the candle and hands," the German-to-Chinese-to-English directions read.
Okayyyy. We went outside onto my North Hollywood sidewalk and readied ourselves with the Himmelschlantern and a lighter.
"Prepare special parings for friends," was the final instruction.
We attached the candle to the frame.
"I'm making my paring for Erik," Aaron said.
"Me too."
As Aaron held the lantern skin ready, I lit the candle. Or at least, I tried.
The damn thing would NOT light.
We tried again.
"Maybe we're not paring hard enough," Aaron suggested.
We par'd the fuck out of that thing, and tried every possible way to get the candle to ignite, It simply wouldn't. Time and bizarre engineering prevented the wax from doing anything other than scorching.
"Hmm," I said.
"Hmm." Aaron said, then "...Wanna just set the Himmelschlantern on fire?"
It was a great plan- but the damn fireproof (for obvious safety reasons) paper would not ignite.
"Got any lighter fluid?"
Yes, yes I did- my super-sweet ex, Paul to the rescue again, from thousands of miles away. When you live with a fire-poi juggler, he leaves you with lighter fluid. This is the natural order of things.
I found Paul's stash in the garage and we tested a spot on the Himmelschlantern. It looked good to go.
We took turns dousing it and blazing it, as cars passed by unphased by the destruction in the street.
As the embers flew up and away into the chilly night, we made our parings.
Whatever the fuck a paring is.
Finally, it had charred and crisped to nothing.
We kicked the ash into submission, him in his famous boots and me in mine.
The black soot still sits on my suede, reminding me of that night and our scorched-earth policy.
"Well, that's that," he said.
It was and it wasn't.
I clung so tightly to him- we were both scared and sad and completely assimilated. I knew I'd leave a piece of my heart behind with each of my friends, but Aaron has a sizeable chunk and it physically hurt to watch him walk away. I hate saying goodbye when the future is uncertain.
I hated not knowing where Erik was.
I hated... leaving.
All I could do was trust that the fibers of my intentions had made it through the smog layers and up to where the dreams go in LA. The glittering stratosphere where stars are made.
EPILOGUE
The next night, while driving with my brother through Arizona, I saw a shooting star. It may have been Himmelschlantern fragments because I wished with all my heart on it for Erik's safe return.
Within an hour I heard the news: he was alive and safe, checking out of a hospital.
Feathers and Himmelschlanterns. Sleepovers and Shooting Stars.
I miss you friends- but you're here safe in the embers of my burning heart.
