max-“we all have them I guess,” she takes a long drag of her cigarette. The smoke masks her sigh. “They’re those high maintenance friends.”
cat- “what do you mean when you say high maintenance?”
max- “well… let’s see. I look forward to her visits. I always have a lot of fun when she’s in town, and we always have a great time getting together, smoking, talking… ” max leans forward to tell me something girl-to-girl, “and she’s great to gossip with… but I always feel winded when she leaves. like an event has occurred and is now over.”
cat- “what winds you?”
max- “the fuss at the planning, I mean we actually DO things. just getting to the airport is at least a five or six call mission. the drop point, the pick up spot… but you know? I guess it’s not even that really, but just having her in my house. I like to sit. I don’t move much, I like to be at home. I’m a hermit. unless I’m dancing. I love to dance. goa, trance… I’ll work mattpoint this weekend for a party some friends of mine are throwing, and I’m honored to be a responsible member of the team. anyway. she hustles around, even if we’re just sitting, she owns the conversation.”
cat- “can you elaborate?”
max- “I think she gets nervous when it’s quiet. when there’s a lull in conversation. though I must admit,” max smiles confidentially, “there’s never a dull moment when she’s here. and she is a spark for conversation.”
cat- “you mean she sparks conversation intentionally?”
max- “no. that’s not what I mean. I mean..” max pauses for a moment and eyes her bong on the coffee table. “do you mind, would you partake?” max leans forward and starts prepping the bowl.
cat- “no thanks, not today”
max- “even the way she looks. she has these long corkscrew curls in her hair, which is dark. almost black, though in the summer she gets these auburn tints. and she’s tall. some tall women slouch a bit. and she doesn’t. unless she’s wearing her shirt above her belly. then she kind of sticks it out proudly. like that woman in pulp fiction. what was her name? you know, the one who wants a “little pot”, a little belly.” max reaches for her lighter and then curls her legs back up underneath her on the couch. “she’s loud. even when she’s not talking. she has this arm full of bracelets. they jingle. you can hear her coming down the hall. and her movements are loud. vivacious. boisterous even at times.” she shakes her head a little.
cat- “what were you thinking in that head shake?”
max- “I was just thinking it’s impossible to sit down and describe her. I can’t make it sound real.”
cat- “does she seem more real than other people?”
max- “it’s hard to tell. is she more real to me because we’ve known each other for so long? because we have so much history? I mean everyone who meets her is really impressed and all. and I know better than to see all the front line personality. I think at this point I’ve almost forgotten how newcomers perceive her. I think it is really a matter of history. it’s important to have those people who know you for so long, they become second nature. the people you think of first when something terrible happens, the people you think of when you want to scream out loud cause you got into grad school. the people that forgive you know matter how badly you fuck up your life. and the people in whom you can trust that forgiveness.”