Long gone are the days when people would put pen to paper to express their feelings. Because I can’t leave you a note on the whiteboard anymore, as you’ve come to learn, I’ll put my fingertips to the keyboard now that I’m in the feels. Although this year felt shorter than a second, I’ll be able to pack a lot into this letter about our time together.
Our building definitely wasn’t the most picturesque place to live, but it did the job. I can’t say that I’ll miss the lingering smell of Indian cuisine in the halls, the children smoking pot outside our windows before and after school, Old Man Upchuck spewing at all hours of the day and night, the endless plumbing problems, and good ol’ Charlie Landlord, but I will miss being passively aggressive about it all with you in our tiny, yet impeccably decorated living room.
Not only did you put up with all of the aforementioned bullshit, but you also gracefully handled my hair in the drain, loud phone voice, pointless crying, shower singing, grandma bedtime, and 24/7 smell of “incense”. If only you could pass that patience along to my mom now that I’m back with her...
I’ll miss our documentary dates, talking about our wacked out families, listening to your stories from Metro and the courthouse, seeing your face at 5 a.m. every morning and hearing you yell goodnight through my door in the evenings. I know we might not be at the same school next year, and maybe not even the same city, but I’ll have a Pantherfest ticket waiting for you.
My parents had a convenient little phrase during my middle school grunge phase. They would sneer, “You are who you hang out with,” because apparently I was in with the “wrong crowd”. We both know that this year could have gone very differently if we hadn’t been roommates, which is why I’m eternally grateful that we were.
You’re the Gloria to my Gloria and don’t you ever forget it. I love you Alexandra Counts-Butz, and I miss you already.
P.S. I’m still sorry I forgot to edit that paper.