By Beauty Damned

A Gift Like No Other

I have a friend. Her name is Angela. We met when we were about seven years old at the student housing complex that we lived in with our respective families on Sepulveda in West Los Angeles. My dad was in law school at the time, my mom working as a paralegal. Angela's parents were both academics, very smart people who hit it off with my parents right away. She had a little sister and her parents homeschooled them both. Angela has always been an exceedingly talented and compassionate human being. She is a great artist and an excellent musician. We became very close as children. I don't remember a time when we ever disagreed or decided we didn't like each other, as I did sometimes with other children. Friendships are often so transient and fickle when you're little. But not with Angela.

And then my brother was afflicted with the pesticide poisoning and he couldn't walk, and we moved, and they moved. Thank god, Joshua recovered for the most part. And Angela, impressively as she was a child, always made the effort to stay in touch with me. We were pen pals no matter where she went. She moved to Florida with her family and I received letters about the activities that she was involved in and how very hot and humid it was and what it was like to see an alligator crawl up from a swamp to lay in the driveway. She always expressed a love and kinship towards me and my whole family that was very unique and genuine. I loved every letter I received from her and I wrote back with enthusiasm.

One day her family decided to move again. This time it was to Wisconsin. We continued writing to one another. When I was fourteen, and my parents moved us from Santa Monica, California to Ashland, Oregon, Angela and I continued to keep in touch, but those correspondences became fewer and farther between as we were involved in our teenage lives and it became difficult to focus and think rationally as life and the scent of adulthood swirled all around. At least for me. I can only speak for myself.

I was so swept up in my teens. Party party party. And then I turned 19 and got married as a way to calm down. I can't say that it's easy to dissect the logic of it in retrospect, but it seemed to make perfect sense at the time. Anyway, so that happened, and it had been about eight years since I'd last seen Angela. And then she came to visit me at the teeny tiny little house that I shared with my new husband on West 11th Street in Medford, Oregon. It was so wonderful to see her, but it was also the first time that I felt how little we had in common. I felt like we were two people from two different planets, and it is also possible that I was a bit of an asshole at that time in my life and didn't really know how to treat my friends. After all, I'd gotten married without telling any of them and basically assumed a new identity on some level. I really did. I never realized it until I typed it out just now. But Angela didn't give up on me even after seeing and feeling completely tripped out by the life I'd assumed. (I've always been a bit of a chameleon in ways, but my role as a Medford wife/stepmother and small-town legal secretary was really one of my most outrageous, though one might argue that my subsequent 9-month tenure living with a male stripper in New Jersey and being his chauffer could rival that. My life has been all the bizarro soap opera that I can handle, and to this day it doesn't stop. I guess I shouldn't hope that it will.)

Anyway, it isn't necessary to get into all of the details of how I ended up in New York, but needless to say I did. And when I did and I'd gotten myself all settled in and well established, Angela, once again, came to visit me in my new life. Her mother had moved to Connecticut following her parents' divorce, and so it became convenient that I live in New York. Used to be that I worked in the Met Life Building at Grand Central Station and we could easily meet for drinks and pizza downstairs, as that is just where her train came in. She visited by herself a few times, and that was lovely. She also called me at my desk one day and said she was downstairs with her mom and her sister. I was excited about the surprise, so I hurried down and there they were, ready for a day out in the City. It was so good to see them and hug them all!

Then my brother died, and naturally I decided to leave that big corporate office in the sky to return to earth, life away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Central Station. I have talked to Angela, but not seen her since. However, each new incarnation of my life's passage is spotted with memories of Angela, presenting herself again and again, offering her friendship as a thing which is absolutely unchangeable in its sincerity. I've been fortunate enough to have incredible friends in this life, people who have this quality, this stalwart attitude about friendship, this intelligence and beauty that I feel privileged to interact with. And truly, Angela is one who has proven the real benefit of that longevity by always being there, always being a true friend, despite any place that either of us might ever move or travel to. Friendship is not a thing which is confined to a place. She really taught me that.

The reason I mention Angela today is because she sent me something that came two days ago wrapped in a big package by insured mail. This is the note that came with it:

Dearest Maria,

This Repose piece was what I was working on when I heard about Joshua. I felt it was a sign that it was meant for him and those he loves. My blacksmith teacher in Minneapolis heard the story and helped me finish the piece by building the steel part, and I helped with that. The relief work is out of copper. I wasn't able to find it for the longest time, and it was because I had left it at an art show, but just recently the owner of the space reminded me of its whereabouts. Perhaps the timing was meant to be. Sounds like, from your blog, things are a little rough. I am very sorry. I wish I could help. Let me know if I can! Much LOVE, Angela.

The letter was typed on an old typewriter, and I have reproduced it here without typos, despite their charm. It was signed in green pen, Angela.

This was with it and a pouch full of white votives.

You can look at other beautiful photographs of it here:

http://angelamcjunkin.googlepages.com/memorialsconce

Hi Angela,

I received your package this afternoon. It would be impossible to say how much it means to me. There have only been a few objects in my life which have held such value to me, and what is funny is that most of the others came from my brother. I'll never forget how it felt to open a package from him to find a piece of his artwork, something he'd made with his hands and his heart. Those are the only possessions in this world that I hold dear: those that were made for me with the hands and the artistic vision of a person that I love. Without a doubt, you are another such person. Angela, we have known each other a long time. A wonderfully long time. You have been such a great friend to me in a million different ways. But I want you to know that this thing, this beautiful treasure that you designed and fashioned and gifted to me, I will love it forever as a symbol of everything that you mean to me, and I can't thank you enough for the beautiful gesture of sympathy that you conveyed in your letter accompanying it. I shall never know another friend like you.

Love,

Maria

Posted by Maria at June 2, 2008 03:23 PM | TrackBack