Chapter 42: What Would Julie Do?
Tillson Elementary | Tillson, NY
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The fence isn’t sturdy by any stretch of the imagination, but it feels weird to break in now. Namely because there’s no building. The abandoned Tillson Elementary used to sit here, but now it’s gone. All that’s left is an empty lot and a chain link fence.
You’re also not here.
The last time I saw you was Tuesday, August 27. You died on Saturday, August 31. Today is Thursday, September 5, and I came back here to sit for a moment and think about you. The first space we explored together was Tillson Elementary. We got to poke around its empty hallways, just before it was demolished, pretty recently. I actually think that that was before you got diagnosed, but I could be wrong — it could be pretty soon after, but my understanding of time is screwed. Especially the past two weeks. I feel like each of my body parts has been thrust into its own dimension, its own reality, and the only thing keeping it all together is this unfathomable grief that has already prompted me to get weird.
I left the sink running in the bathroom at the radio station yesterday. The only reason I knew I’d done that is because Micah told me. I went to feel embarrassed then decided I didn’t care. I was far more concerned about crying in front of my friends, in a good way. I want to cry. It feels good, even if it feels bad too. It’s both.
You’re so goddamn around right now that it’s actually crazy. Crosswalk signals sound like your laugh. Every car that passes by playing music I think I hear lesbian pussy rock, only to realize it’s just Michael McDonald. Everyone thought that Michael McDonald thing was legendary, but I think it’s stupid. And I loved you very much, and I still love you very much, probably more so now that it will never be enough. I wanted to reintroduce you to the world, now that you’ve gone, like Tillson Elementary is gone. I’m sure there’s some cheap symbolism there, but I’ll spare you the sigh. What matters to me is that you know that I will miss you every day until I die, and that’s a fact.
As I watch how the grief in our verbose community unfolds, I will try and turn to your messaging for comfort, understanding, compassion, and solutions. I can’t say I understand how or why certain people are grieving they way they are, particularly when it comes to putting their own lackluster pride and pedestrian chaos first, but it shouldn’t be a surprise that the unimaginable disappearance of your magic from our earthly world has allowed people to show up exactly as they are, and exactly who they are.
Nothing shines a light on true colors like the spectrum of grief.
I’ve felt it in me, too, the worst parts of me boiling to the surface, a spoiled rage that only cares about scapegoating fools rather than mourn the loss of my big sister, my gay dad, my mensching mentor, my ferocious friend, my creative confidant, my cheerleader, my queer idol, my favorite example of what it means to live in love and live it fearlessly. Amidst the humanly whiplash of this violent and utterly maddening pendulum shift lies a simple question:
What would Julie do?
Julie would tell a story. A true story about you. A story that speaks to exactly who you are, in your own words. It’s your voice, your covenant, your alabaster memory etched into eternity, a way to say that I miss you dearly, I will always miss you dearly, and I loved every second of adventure that you and I shared together.
