Three Little Birds

So I ended up at home Friday night sitting on the couch watching the movie Beaches, you know, the one with Barbara Hershey and Bette Midler where they are best friends from childhood and the Barbara Hershey character gets sick and dies and leaves her daughter to be raised by the Bette Midler character. I watched it out of curiousity to see if it would have the same non-effect it did the last time I saw it which was in the theatre with BE. We didn't cry. We didn't feel anything and were pinching each other trying to induce tears because everyone around us was sobbing. Well this time it was me sobbing. Or bawling more like. The deep, abiding, enriching female friendship. The being sick and not until watching that movie having anything to connect with on that. I guess life experience changes your perspective on things.



A and I had planned to be ready to mobilise on Friday night for V but her talk with Fig was post-poned to Saturday night. On Saturday A and I received the heads-up text message from V saying she was going to need us; we remained on call throughout the day. By the time she got to my house it was 11:00. A and I were waiting wondering what state she was going to be in. I had been feeling weird and nauseaus all day but was amped to do whatever it was V wanted to do. I hoped she wanted to get self destructively drunk because I wanted an excuse to do the same. I am sick and tired of being sick. We had no idea what to expect. We ended up hanging out at my house. We sat in the kitchen and while V was giving us the post-mortem, I made pot brownies and regular brownies (culminating in me sticking a fork through my thumb and A taking over the brownie making while V assessed my wound). V was very animated in the retelling. It was chilling and very sad. Another one bites the dust. BE is the lone one still in a relationship.

A and I had nothing uplifting to tell V about her immediate future, of course we did tell her it would get better and that she'd be fine eventually; we are. But as Illinois admonished me two years ago, "breaking up is hard to do, Briana; it's like the song." And he was right. There's the shock, the anger, the hurt feelings, the moving out, the change in routine, the future that is now completely different. Of the three of us I have been single the longest. It will soon be two years. In that time I have only had serious feelings for one person, OC. And they weren't reciprocated. I have had my share of fun in the past two years with 31 and 1982 and the Pilot etc; so it isn't as if I have been sitting around alone waiting for some prince on a white horse to come and rescue me. But when it comes down to it, I am alone. And A is alone. And I am sick to boot. Who the hell knows how that's going to end up. It's not the way we thought things would end up for us, not that things in that department are over for us; it's just weird to all be here again together. We eventually went to bed around 3:00 or 4:00am, laughing. We have each other and despite the depressing turn of events for V, we had fun.

All night I was tossing and turning. My bones ached. I was sweating and then I was shivering. V was asleep next to me. On any other occasion I would have woken her up for some medical attention but I was so happy that she was asleep. She needed some. I had planned on making them breakfast and coffee but I couldn't even get out of bed in the morning. I made it to the kitchen to take my drugs and had to immediately turn around and come back to bed. V took my temperature; I had a fever. A made me some toast. I was a complete mess. V was a complete mess. We were talking about our futures and I started to cry like, "who would want me now? I am such a handful. What if I don't get better? Who would want to take care of me?" And then V started to cry and A laid down in bed with us. Too bad BE was in Vegas; she could have seen Beaches in action. And I bet even she would have even cried this time.