She commented on my Facebook status like I knew she would. Raven hair chopped at various sideways angles that complemented a vicious sense of humor. She trained to be a helicopter nurse but dropped out when she discovered that she was afraid of heights after all. Laughing eyes that danced in the rain and a love for commercial hip hop that went against everything else she appeared to stand for.
We’d held hands on a tennis court at Michigan State University in the middle of the night and discovered what it is people spend lives searching for. But that was three presidential terms and two time zones ago. Stolen moments in a dark room set to a newly acquired love for underground punk rock soundtrack. A soft kiss out of cliché movie before life happened and we drifted apart.
In the meantime she discovered architecture and Ann Arbor and bicycling. She was a hipster pioneer, and a lioness. In the meantime, I discovered blondes, and developed a strong case wanderlust to go along with my strange fascination with the weird. She got into environmental activism and went green. I got into whiskey and Bukowski and bar fights. She eventually went to grad school and got straight A’s. I eventually got my shit together and moved for the first, but not the last time, to Portland.
She found a light and boy and some inner peace. She started listening to happier music, and forgave her mom. At least for the most part. They moved to the west coast and got a puppy. They went for hikes in the coastal range and held hands as they watched the sun melt into the Pacific. She learned how to cook rice with a little butter, just the way he liked it.
I met someone new and forgot to remember to think about her.