Snow Queen

I used to be able to describe how I first saw her-- it was in a poetry class, and I was intimidated by something she'd said, and it was probably one of those cases where I thought I didn't like her-- the first thing I usually do when I start to make a good friend is think I hate her for awhile.

I wrote a poem that had Zoloft in it, or a reference to depression. She made a comment that made me know she knew what I was going through. Why don’t I remember it more? At the time I thought I had invented depression. I felt like the only person who had even been profoundly sad.

We became friends. There is a scene I remember vividly: the balcony of her high-rise dorm, early, balmy spring, Mango Snapple in a martini glass. A few moments of calm.

She is very honest. Once I called her in a kind of panic from my job and said, does this ever go away? She said, no. She said, but you learn how to deal with it.

From her I learned about sushi and wine and good cheese and making a studying schedule. And so many great bands. Once we drank an entire jug of Carlo Rossi wine in two hours.

When I think of her I think of beautiful, hip jewelry-- her rings especially. And wedge shoes. Scarves. Coffee shops. Driving places to eat-- she always knew of some interesting cafe or restaurant, and we'd pick at things till we finished them, and talk and talk.

I haven't talked to her in what seems like a hundred years, but she just left her husband. I haven't heard the whole story, but I imagine that move took a lot of honesty, honesty to self, the most important kind. And courage. Snow Queen, you deserve a special kind of purple heart, an amethyst ring one, perhaps, or a velvet one for your patchwork quilt.

The other night I dreamed of I was going to a city in Canada. I'm not sure which. I was arriving on a train/boat kind of thing, standing on a kind of balcony. Suddenly this gorgeous city appeared, a city of ice, framed by blue mountains and glaciers in the background. Everything was sparkle and shades of sky and white.