Saturday, July 12, 2014

To Peter

Peter often forgot to knock when he’d come into my room. He was always looking down at his green phone. He’d laugh because I would usually scream (I’m easily exciteable) and then I would laugh too. He would then take my desk chair, the one with wheels on the bottom, and clear off whatever I wore the night before and plop down, still looking at his phone the whole time. “Whats up, dude?” Peter loved the word “Dude,” it was the only proper noun he ever used, other than my name, “Alexandra.” Peter called me Alexandra because I told him once that I wished more people would call me that but that it was too much of a commitment because it is such a long name. Peter and my cousin, Craig, are the only people that have ever consistently called me “Alexandra.”
Peter and I used to watch bad movies till late into the night and talk over them. No one else could stand to watch with us unless they were very drunk or tired. One time when Peter walked into my room without knocking he found me sobbing on the bed. “What’s wrong, Alexandra?”
“I didn’t get into this art show.” So silly now how absolutely sad I was, then. I’m sure Peter even knew it was silly but instead of telling me that he went out later that day, when I was at work, and bought me a dozen blue daisies or tulips or whatever those flowers with the 6 pedals and the petite stem are called. He left them in a vase at my door. I didn’t even know it was him and wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t thanked the wrong person, my other roommate, Erin.
“No, Peter bought those for you, because you were sad.”
That was the kind of person that Peter was. He would have never told me that he had left the flowers because it wasn’t about him buying me flowers, it was about me feeling better.
This is the sixth close friend that I have lost. I know this because I counted between whiskey drinks last night. You think by now I’d be a professional at losing a friend, but the honest truth is that death is death, and Peter is gone, and the door that he always kept open is sitting right down the hall from me, shut. When I first noticed he was missing I went in and found a dirty plate he had obviously left because he was in a hurry and planned to clean when he got back. Stupidly, I thought he would be coming back, to clean his dirty plate. I don’t know why.
Sometimes Peter would just sit quietly next to me as I drew. I didn’t mind, because I knew he was lonely and so was I. The truth is, I needed Peter, I needed him there, silently playing on his phone, every so often interrupting my drawing to show me a cute picture of a bunny or puppy he found on instagram. Peter was always the most consistent thing in my life.
I’m not one to really talk about feelings, I much rather listen to slayer and smash down a door than to say the same cheesy things that we’ve all heard all of our lives. But I owe it to Peter to just say that life is fucking short and whatever choices you make are your choices, but just make sure that you are filling your time up with what you want to be doing because when it comes down to it, life will never be easy, but it’s worth the struggle.
I miss you, Peter.

1 comment:

  1. Hey, Alexandra, sorry I missed you in NY. Sorry your friend is gone. Sorry for your sorrow. Renée

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