Sunday, June 26, 2011

The Incomparable Miss Morosky



Lansy,

The first I knew of you was in high school. I thought of you as a beautiful, popular girl who I would probably never be friends with—not because I didn’t like you, not because I didn’t think I would like you, but because you were a somebody and I was me. You were the thin, pretty, popular girl with all the thin, pretty, popular friends. I was the chubby girl who wore polyester pants to school. Seriously, if someone—some all powerful, all knowing being—had told me in high school that Alana Morosky would later become my best friend, my soul mate, I would have spat blood. Because that’s what you do when you’re really surprised about something—you spit blood.

If only I had known then what I know now, that yes, you are beautiful and popular, but also artistic, adventurous, free-spirited, passionate, foul-mouthed, feisty, and fiercely loyal, with an exceedingly quick and dark wit, I would’ve plunked my polyester-wearing self down at your cafeteria table and started telling you about the crazy movie I saw that weekend, or how I fell in math and chipped a tooth, because I know you would’ve gotten it—you would’ve gotten me.

As it would happen, we got through high school without ever having a conversation. And for years, it remained that we were two people who simply shared a high school and happened to grow up in the same small town. We lived, we loved, we lost—all without knowing each other. I can’t really begin to tell you how lucky I feel to have ended up back home 8 years after high school, because if I had never come back I may have missed out on meeting the best friend I have ever known.

We got through the first awkward stages of friendship, where you’re not sure if you should call someone or ask them to do something because “it might be weird.” That was mostly thanks to you—showing up at pretty much every single one of Gina’s Thursday night shows at the bar. I got more comfortable with you, and you got more comfortable with me. We started taking a million pictures a night. I told you about Tyra Banks and America’s Next Top Model and smizing, and together we invented “voltage!”—where you take a picture while trying to look model-y after yelling out “voltage!”

I remember deciding that I was going to make it a point to get to know you really well. I wanted to know how you take your coffee. I now know that in the winter you drink a venti peppermint mocha, nonfat, no whip, and in the summer you drop the peppermint and add ice. I know that you hate fruits and vegetables with a passion. I know that you love bacon and sushi almost as much as you hate fruits and vegetables, as evidenced by the poor man’s BLT—bacon bits, mayonnaise, no lettuce, no tomato, on toast. I know that you are fascinated by serial killers, much the same as I am fascinated by school shootings. You love art, nature, and history. You love exploring the world around you, taking back roads, taking the scenic route. You love saying, “it coulda been different, mista walka.” You love movies and TV as much as I do—neither of us thinks it’s ridiculous to drive an hour and a half to go see a movie that would never be playing around here, or to sit up half the night dissecting the season finale of Dexter or playing the Seinfeld trivia game. You are an animal lover. You take beautiful care of your goats, your horses, your cats, and of course, Zoey and Micah. I can’t count how many trips to we took to PetSmart to buy toys for Zoey—because it was her birthday or Christmas, or just because. You are an incredibly gifted artist and photographer, but you also have a few hidden talents—your horse neigh, your Pee-wee Herman impression, and your ability to perfectly recite the second verse of Eminem’s “My Dad’s Gone Crazy.” These are just a few of the amazing things that I have learned about you since our friendship began three years ago. Really, I’m just scratching the surface here.

I don’t think I have ever laughed as much with anyone as I have with you. Your dark, politically incorrect sense of humor fits perfectly with my dark, politically incorrect sense of humor. I have also become more adventurous because of you. If not for you, I never would’ve seen the glory that is Port Agony. I would never have run for my life through the trails surrounding the Petroglyphs. I would never have met George, the kindly keeper of the Octagon Barn, or seen the withered hull of the Chesaning Showboat. I would definitely never have allowed myself to be flung 420 feet into the air on the Top Thrill Dragster. I would never have experienced the crazy, weird, magical beauty of the wind turbines in Pigeon, Michigan. And still, I am just scratching the surface of things I never would have done or thought to do if I had never met you.

I want to thank you—for putting up with me, for letting me show you endless pictures of cute animals in books at Barnes and Noble, for being my shoulder to cry on when baby ducks get murdered or when I’m scared or depressed or grief stricken. Thank you for inspiring me, for sticking up for me with that bitch at Travelodge, for letting me be myself and never making me feel silly or inconsequential. Thank you most of all for letting me in your life, for being a friend I feel I can truly be myself around. In life, you meet lots of people. You have lots of friendships, and everyone always says how much they love their friends. But the truth is, it is an exceedingly rare thing to find a friend you love unconditionally and who loves you unconditionally back. I know I have found this kind of friendship, this kind of connection, with you. And while I am devastated that you are leaving me, it is because of the strength of our friendship, because of the uniqueness of us, that I know we will survive this. No matter where we are, whether we are in the same room or across the country from one another, we are best friends, and nothing can change that. This is just the beginning of the next chapter.

Love you forever and ever,

Lizzy             

“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart).” – E.E. Cummings