for b on her 28th birthday

zoe on thursdays is a monthly newsletter sharing zoe’s most recent fiction & non-fiction writing, a reading recommendation & a writing prompt.

Dear reader,

I have hated November since it became the month I went through my worst break up. Sometimes, I remember it so vividly it makes me tip toe around myself. In November, I close car doors lightly because I can still feel the way I cried in my car so violently I thought I might choke outside the classroom where I was supposed to be assistant teaching. The teacher, a New England lesbian in her 50’s, came out afterwards and tapped on the window. She took me to a bar in the middle of the day and bought me two Miller Lites in a row. She told me about her first heartbreak and said, "You'll look back and feel so lucky that all the people that let you go in your life, let you go."

She was right. I do feel lucky. That break up and ten other things brought me to Salt Lake four years ago.

In July, I started saying that I’d move from Salt Lake to New York in December. The move felt so far away then. Now, it's just next door. The thought of leaving, just a beautiful idea before, is here and it sits hard in my stomach.

The most excruciating part of leaving this place is leaving friends who have loved me so fiercely through four years of intense transformation. I'm afraid that letting them go will mean letting go of all the pieces of myself they hold so tenderly.

Today, I'm sharing a piece I wrote for one of these friends in particular. Her birthday is in November and, this year, we won’t celebrate. Last year, a friend shattered an ankle at her skate park birthday party. The year before, an evil ex resurfaced. To avoid catastrophe, we'll let it slip by quietly. I hope a quiet piece of writing like this one will do in lieu of a loud celebration. It's a start to all the things I need to say when I think about leaving Salt Lake City:

For B on her 28th birthday 

B needs two cans of mint yerba mate and a six pack of juicy ipas from 7/11 to start her day. Her pitbull pulls her back home as she texts 7 people at once and calls me back. We moved to Utah together at 22. Two jewish girls from Boston that could make a room of conversation stop to watch us talk over each other to reach the top of a ladder that was our shimmering golden point about how what state you’re from plus how conventionally attractive you were growing up determines your personality. Among the quiet, wait-your-turn midwestern transplants in Salt Lake City, it made us unlikable in a way that we appreciated. We’d press our beer cans together and cheers with a sense of earnestness for being true to us. 

B invites you to hang out, which means you’ll go to a rail by the airport that she drove past yesterday and take videos of her skating on it. After, you’ll eat noodles and make the waiter uncomfortable by talking too loudly about anal. The owner will come out from the kitchen to ask B how she’s doing and what she thinks about the new menu item because she’s befriended him like she befriends everyone. 

B says she doesn’t drink wine because it brings on “the big sad,” so a canned juicy ipa it is. She’ll offer you the last one in her fridge if you’ll walk with her to 7/11 to get more. 

B walks into your house and gets right to the point: Do you have any snacks? Tell me what happened from the beginning? She’ll text me during any conflict I’ve ever had and assure me that I’m right. If I’m wrong, she’ll still assure me that I’m right and then a few minutes later ask a question that gets more to the point like, “I know you love him but maybe it’s time?” 

On a hike when we were 13, I was scared to go any further. There was a hornets nest and then a rickety bridge. B said, I’ll go first, as she ran with her hands over her head past the nest and across the bridge. She lay on the ground covered in 8 wasps still stinging and managed to shout, Keep going, I’m over here, It’ll be over soon. I ran after her and grabbed her hand off the ground. We ran until the wasps got tired or all bit us and died. 

During any hard thing I’ve experienced in my life, B’s been there on the other side saying Keep going, I’m over here, It’ll be over soon. I’m moving away from Utah to a big city where people will furrow their eyebrows when they hear where I moved from. They’ll say, why Utah, and I’ll respond truthfully, because my best friend was there. We needed to grow together until we were strong enough to be grown up on our own. But if anything hurts us too badly, we won’t ever be too far apart to say, Keep going, I’m over here, It’ll be over soon. 

Something to read & something to write

Something to read: Do you have a place for me? by xTx

Roxane Gay’s story “Do You Have a Place for Me” was assigned in my short story class this month. She wrote it based on the poem linked above by the writer xTx. This led me on a deep dive of xTx’s fantastically queer poems and stories for any signs of Roxane. I also recommend her full short story collection, Normally Special.

Something to write: When was the last moment you remembered wanting time to stand still?

It’s human to want time to stand still, to want to fossilize the present moment and assure ourselves we’ll never dip into despair again. Grab a paper and pen or open a blank google doc or a new tab on your Notes app. Set a timer for 30 minutes and write your answer to this prompt. Don’t read what you’ve written and don’t stop writing until time is up: When was the last moment you remembered wanting time to stand still?

See you on the first Thursday of December!

Love,

Zoe