She was wearing a blue tank top the last time I saw her. It was made of yarn and I didn’t ask her if she made it herself; I sort of knew. Her nails were dark. Dry. Her wine red braids went below her knees. And she wore a nude lipstick.
She joked about being surprised that she was still alive. She joked also, about how she would be dying soon.
She was one of the few people who meant it when they said to live everyday as though it were the last.
She laughed
She joked
About the life she loved and lived
Despite the rheumatism
The drugs
The men who cared less about her ailment
Despite death and pain that stared her in the face for rather too long
Despite her fate
She lived
She loved
She laughed
I wrote this years ago for my friend, who’s living with Sickle Cell. I lost her contact, but I’m too afraid ask around for it, partly because I’m not ready to hear the unthinkable…. I like to think that she’s alive, living her best life.
But I hope you’re well? Wherever you are, R., I’m thinking of you, now, right this minute
