One year ago, I saw this. I saw Michelle’s facebook status on my feed and I couldn’t believe it. I said no. No. And I called Trudy. I called Trudy what seemed like a thousand times and she wasn’t answering. So I sat there going through my phone book calling anyone I knew who might’ve also known you. Ron picked up. He saw it, too. But he didn’t know, nobody knew exactly what happened.
Except that you were gone.
I couldn’t move, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t do anything but cry and listen to the sound of my emails coming through hundreds of times all day like they do every day. Except for the first time in years, I had absolutely no intention of dealing with them.
There wasn’t much of the ceramic floor that wasn’t covered in kleenex butterflies.
Marissa got a flight to Miami.
Remember when the three of us had lunch on the patio at Urth Caffe? It was years ago. But not so long that I couldn’t tell you exactly what was said. What happened in the days after, word for word.
I didn’t sleep.
I got pretty the next day. I held Charlie’s hand in the cab from the airport back to 14th and Collins. He asked me how I’d been and I had to tell him “My ex passed away” and pretended to be ok.
It was a lot of pretending to be ok.
We ate and we fucked and we hung out on the beach. And then Marissa arrived, for my sake, and it was a lot of fun like it should have been. Listening to Mario, wearing leopard prints, singing Disney songs drunk, and ordering tater tots at The Standard pool. And it was the same, mostly, for the rest of the year.
A lot of coasting by.
But there are times. Like when Dov said I could write a memo to the staff about you, between a plate of oysters being removed and another dish being placed on the table. Or when I had to live in the house I last shared with you, for months. And I could feel you in every corner. Making fun of me. Or every single. fucking. time I see that polaroid of you, the one that Maceo said was his favourite of all.
Today, it will be hard.
And I think the worst part of it all is knowing that they will never understand – all the people, everyone who hadn’t gotten to know you – just how incredibly special you were. There will never be another you. Absolutely not.
And I know, by no means, am I a patron of your memory. These are just mine.
And I miss you.
Forever, at times.
Richard Scott Gimbel II, February 17th, 1979 – January 15th, 2012.
I’m in Melbourne, avoiding you, and I’m too
busy non-plussed to blog (like ever).
Luckily for me, I’ve got New York’s prettiest young thing, Drex Drechsel, by my side.
I think at one point I said my New Year’s resolution was to be less cruel to the people I love.
Which, I’m pretty sure I’ve already broken.
I’m not a good person, you know that.
You love me anyway.
Keep it real.
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