He Was Ridiculous… and Amazing

I enjoy hand-stitching for the same reasons I adore hammers, the colors red and black, Terry Pratchett’s writing, and the sky on nights when the moon is darkest. I won’t tell you why I love those things. Not because it might creep you out—I’d probably delight in that—I won’t tell you why because we don’t need to know each other marrow deep to be friends. If we do, then we really aren’t.

The idea of jumping off a bridge because everyone else is doing it disgusts me. But if the day (or wild night) comes when jumping is the only way forward, I shall leap into the precipice without bitching about it—my thoughts, legs, and spine must be all cat.

I’ve landed on my feet, and broken a few things before rolling with the punches takes hold of the metaphor. I’m prejudiced against welcomed stupidity. People who hurt others because they know they can get away with it should spend a lot of time on their knees being thankful to a curly-haired one-eyed woman who smoked a pipe.

I write because not doing so would kill me slowly (or someone else). I love for similar reasons. Today, I woke up in a world where my best friend was alive. Now he is dead. And I’m angry. Because the world is a bit emptier and it didn’t have to be.

The whole world will miss you, my bird of terrible feathers. And I will miss you most.

One Halloween, when we were still teenagers, he dressed up as… something covered in fake chickens. I remember asking, “What in the name of Hades’ fiery balls are you?” He said, “I’m a sexy beast.” When puzzlement showed that I couldn’t follow his logic, he added, “You know, ‘Just erotic. Nothing kinky. It’s the difference between using a feather and using a chicken.’” He was that kind of ridiculous, that kind of amazing…

May your soul fly high on laughter and bad jokes, you sexy beast…

37 thoughts on “He Was Ridiculous… and Amazing”

  1. This was a beautiful tribute/memory. I am so sorry for your loss; I’ll be lighting a candle in memory of your friend and in honor of the friendship all of us share.

    Hugs to you my Wicked Writer Friend

  2. Here and now, for this moment, you write him alive, gloriously alive, for us who never knew him. And for yourself too, for a moment. And he is not alive, and that’s awful … and he was unique … but this moment can be returned to again and again, and so can the many others you keep within you, always. xxxx

  3. Sorry to hear that. It is really deeply shocking when the people who have affected my thinking die. I don’t make a lot of sense without my landmarks. I assume it’s like that for others, too.

  4. This is beautiful – written with such honesty and clarity (particularly, given your grief) and tender affection. I agree with Rosemary: ‘for this moment, you write him alive’. I am so sorry for your loss, Magaly.

  5. Deep hugs to you Magaly! Mesmerizing writing…such potency! You have taken me into beautiful wild glimpses of your loved one ( and sweet fun memories) ..and I am thankful for that, thank you for sharing your amazing heart and soul. I am smiling at “sexy beast’..what a gorgeous tribute to a treasured friend..cheers to you and sexy beast!!

    PS: There is nothing like those friends of childhood/teenage years..something so undefnably sacred, precious and special!

  6. Rosemary had the perfect words, “You write him alive, gloriously alive.” Your words spin magic for us where he once stood. I am so sorry for your loss, but so grateful for your share. Hugs, dear one!

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