About Jo (crosspost from Tumblr)

 

Originally written February 25, 2024. Slightly augmented.

Interestingly, we actually were girls together… When I met Jo I was 18 years and 11 months old, and had just emerged from my house for the first time in 3 months— straight to school in New York. We were shockingly vulnerable in a really simple 101 Writing class. We spent much of our time in cafes and academic buildings dissecting and chipping away at our Didion imitations until we pretended to ‘find’ some sort of voice at the end of the semester (how timely!). She towered above me, and coaxed a part of me I thought was shut away for good in a house in Oklahoma City. I felt really comfortable. She celebrated my birthday with me after knowing me for a week. We’d speed through SoHo, two of my strides to one of hers, and I always thought she looked cool with a cigarette in hand though it wasn’t anything I was smoking at the time. Her suitcase remained empty with 20 minutes till departure, and we barely missed a bus down to DC. She got us new tickets and against her stature leaned all the way down onto my shoulder for the 5-hour ride, and we split at Union Station. She went off to visit a friend at some DC school and I was seeing family. We reconnected at the end of the week, where those cheap buses meet up, and went back home to New York.

When we were sent home, we sent letters across the Midwest in riveting exchanges between Oklahoma and Illinois. We scrawled bits of forgotten writing projects onto paper and wrote to each other often. Radio silence for a while, and we were back nine months later. She was living with her best friend at the time. It wasn’t me. Their sublease was really gorgeous. The energy was funny. They stopped being friends after the lease ran out. I last saw her on my 21st birthday in Tompkins with a slice of cheesecake. Late as usual.

Two years of radio silence. I texted her for some reason in April 2023 and we chatted briefly. Nothing again. She’s always been in New York, though. I knew her face really well. I superimposed it onto strangers in the crowd. I knew she was here, somewhere.

That summer I felt another friendship dying. I went home exhausted and sweaty and annoyed. No seats on the subway but a space near a familiar face. I was glad she recognized me. I was afraid she wouldn’t. She was to transfer at one stop. I told her I’d be on the train for another hour getting to the outer reaches of Queens. “Safe travels,” and I let the subway car population dwindle before weeping. Nothing again. Maybe I was afraid to reach out myself because I didn’t have anything to say (a symptom of being frozen by anxiety for 2 years).

And then something this past week. I waited 12 minutes to reply. I missed the person I used to be so severely and was deadly curious about her. I was embarrassed about our run-in on the train. I sweat so badly I had pit stains on a plain, over-sized shirt (symbolism) and she was in business casual workwear. It felt awfully on-the-nose about my perception of my own life and disappointment in myself. I didn’t text her because I didn’t want to think about it. But she texted me. Our old writing professor from that very class where we met mentioned me, thus prompting the text. She told me on the phone that she thinks often about a thing I used to say (an Andrea original, by the way) about Jaywalking with the new mothers because no car would run over a baby in a stroller. A saying which attaches a smile to every crosswalk. And remember she’s been in New York this entire time. Couldn’t help but cry about it. She regaled me on everything. Seems we’ve been lonely the same past 6 months. I wish we had each other then. I wish she could’ve seen the joyful moments. I actually don’t know if you’d like her, and I think Winnie has a thing about Jo 'cause she unfollowed her on IG a while back (we were all in that same writing class and we are all deeply unwell. What to say?) but I do consider her a great influence on the Andrea you ended up meeting two years ago, if that’s worth something at all. At the very least it’d be funny? I’ll make it happen. She’s in Bushwick now actually.

Anyway everything’s a missed bus to DC and every good thing in life is being that uncomfortable shoulder to lean down and cry on. Likewise, the security I felt knowing she could always casually pick things back up and move forward is something that could pull me out of the tar pit. We have suffered apart and alone long enough.