The number wasn’t in my contacts, but I recognized it. The words? I couldn’t even.
I don’t know if you guys heard but we had some terrible news today. Joelle passed away in her sleep last night …
I had been texting with her the day before. We were doing what we had always done, finding humor in the dark and perverse. After one volley of messages we had this exchange:
Joelle: You are going straight to hell with me in the front seat of the train. [laughing emoji]
Me: Do you think they’ll have seat belts?
Her: Jesus Christ [laughing emoji]. I sure hope they don’t at that point fuck it.
13 hours later she was gone and she left without me.
I had missed her when she was still alive. I hadn’t seen her in 5 years … we visited the area less and she was always busy when we were in town. “Next time,” we would say. I had plans to visit her last summer, but COVID has interrupted that too.
We would still text each other.
I had tried the emailing pen pal-thing with her, but it wasn’t how she communicated.
And even though I hadn’t seen her for so long, she was still occupying a space that is suddenly empty. It was that space that is filled by the one person in the whole world that always gets me, who shares my humor, who accepts my vices, and sees through my bullshit. She was the stuff that best friends are made of.
In one short text message, the world immediately felt like a more lonely place than ever before. If only I had known, I would have gone to any length to hug her one last time.
But much like today, I’d have had a really difficult time letting go.