Goodbye LaVonne

Today I learned of your passing, dear pal. I think you tried to call me last week, and I tried to call you back, but the response was busy over and over again.

I need to talk with you, because the last time we spoke was 4 months ago... too long. If I had known, if I had only known that your bad heart would take you this soon.

Let me tell your sons about you as a 15 year old High School Junior. That is when I met you. Intro to Biology, Mr. Ainsworth. We were the only Juniors in a class of Sophomores. You were new to town. We became lab partners. Later in the year we honed the scientific skill of rationalizing reasons to skip class. Spring of '73 was the time we spent procuring beer, and ducking off campus before the class day was over. Biology, which happened to fall into last class of the day status was the usual casualty. If I recall correctly, even after spring fever hit, I still was able to earn a B. 

Neither of us liked biology. I was into creative writing and my boyfriend.  You were restless and not college bound. Your family was of the solid working class, and you got an office job as a secretary before you even graduated from Sammamish High.

I remember tooling around Bellevue in your Mom's maroon '64 Impala. You drove like an old pro. I had not even gotten my learner's permit yet. You impressed me with your chutzpah, bravado, courage and impulsive devil-may-care attitude. In retrospect, I see that you were like my alter ego.

Strangely, after we graduated there were years we never kept in touch. Our paths diverged. Fate and time brought us together again in Port Angeles. You had moved to Morse Creek with  husband Craig, and I was in Joyce with my soon to be husband, Jim. I had been the maid of honor at your wedding to Craig. I remember that pretty, fancy white dress, and a tall head piece you wore. We had a funny time figuring out how to arrange it properly on your head.  Jim took the photos for the wedding. We smoked a joint while I was helping you get dressed. You were very nervous about your family all around, especially your brothers.

You died on the last day of summer, days before you would match me in the age of 58 years. Now I am recalling the last visit we had, how much we laughed. We laughed until we felt as young as we could ever be, the abandonment of time and space. I will miss how you could take me there.