Big Girl on Goodbyes

Recently I have had to say goodbye to two great friends.

Saying goodbye is never easy. Well, saying it is-- goodbye. But the memory is still there. And really putting them to bed is a whole different story.

Someone once told me that being with someone, even for a short time, and having nothing between you and them is a gift. It is pure. Both of these men were taken quickly and had short lives. Both of them I loved, albeit in different ways. Both of them I had nothing inbetween.

Eric. Eric and I met in a class. Eric was the first man I ever asked out. Let me take that back. Eric was a guy when I met him. He was laid off from his job, struggling to be an actor, full of laughter and frolic. We actively ignored each other in a class, until the final day when I said "You would be stupid not to ask me out." he did, although he waited two weeks, calling and saying "So, am I stupid?". Yeah, for sure a guy.

We went out for a minute and a half. That's as long as it took me to realize that Eric was going to be a great friend. Not in that "oh, not dating material" because he was; cute, funny, smart as hell, full of laughter, great friends with both men and women. But he was more of the kind of guy I wanted to learn from, not be with. From him, I began to understand men. Really, men are simple, at least simpler than I had previously experienced. They want for very little; to be useful, to be loved, to be praised and worshipped at times, and to be providers. I was not in the space to actually have this in my life, so friends we were.

Eric pursued his dream, and moved to LA to become an actor. We had many conversations about him moving-- what would it take, how he would do it, where he should live. How he could market himself out there. Having been an agent and manager, I set him up with an agent friend out there, who sent him up with someone else, and I believe that is how he got work. He would call or email me to let me know how he was doing.

I went out to LA to visit family and friends in 2003, but didn't call to tell him I'd be there. He tracked me down, and we spent the most glorious day at Disneyland together. We tried on hats and made funny faces into Desha's camera, we sang the Muppet's theme song over and over, and had drinks with Diane and the crew from Disney. When we said goodbye, I let him know how much he meant to me, that he was the first guy I had ever asked out, and that I was very proud of him for following his dream. He said "I'm a man, not a guy.". I told him that when I asked him out he was a guy, but now he was a man for sure. We kissed goodbye, and he tooled off in his little car.

I said then, not knowing how true it was, that that was the last time I would see him. Now, I see him in dreams, in memories and in pictures, but interacting with him now is a little more difficult.

And then there is Mills.

Millsie.

David Mills and I met through friends of friends, lots of drama at a time when we could have all done with a little less. Mills and I would spend out wee hours of the morning on the phone talking about pop culture, screenplays and life in general. Our first real conversation was when he called at 1am, coming home from a gentleman caller's house, and telling me he had broken his promise not to sleep with anyone until the third date. I just listened. He said:

"You're not going to shame me"
Why should I? Do you want to be shamed?
"No, it's just... well, call Kim, and you get no judgment."

And that's how it was.

Mills and I also spent some time out in LA together, just an afternoon I had off of work, and he was out visiting friends. I took him to the San Fernando Mission, where we sat on the great lawn and smoked cigarettes, where I told him the story of my gramma and grampa's wedding at that very church. We went to the Madonna room, where there are several Madonna's of varying sizes and colors-- which was hysterical because Mills, well, being gay, loved Madge. Anyhow, as we were trying to pick out the Madonna that best represented ourselves, the lights went off, the music shut down, and we booked out of there. Both of us thought it was because we were being sacrilegious, however, it was just a room on a motion sensor with a timer.

"I for sure thought there was a bolt of lightning with my name on it"
Me too, sister.

We drove back to LA, blaring Eva Cassidy on the rental car's stereo, feeling the music. We spoke about her untimely death, and said words to each other. That we should know, ever in case of anything.

"I love you. I want you to know that."
Me too sister.

Mills and I drifted, no real reason, just drifted. We got back together at a friends wedding, and had a great time, just doing what we did well, taking orders, giving orders, and making things happen. Mills and I met up on the dance floor for some "Holiday" and boogied until our feet hurt and all the cheap champagne had sweated through our designer clothes.

In hearing of his passing, I was speechless. In a daze. No more Mills? No more Mills. No more 2 am phone calls about Britney, no more faithful MTV watching, no more fabulous facial products to scour. No more crashing in the West Village when I have had too much to drink, no more laughing about anything. Gone.

But he's still here. They are both still here. I have two angels looking over my shoulder, one guiding me into great relationships with former guys who are now men, making me laugh, letting me be vulnerable and another who I can hear reaching for the high notes as Eva soars into a gospel number-- and then points out the best styling lotion for my over frizzy hair-- on sale, in stock, with a coupon. In pictures, in memories, in goodbyes.

In goodbyes for now.