#57, Shawn.

Shawn spelled his name the girls' way, which was awesome. He was my sister's friend, through Heather, really. Always wearing a black baseball cap, plaid flannel and light-colored jeans, although the band t-shirt underneath would change often enough; usually a metal theme. Always a pack of cigarettes (Camels?) and a Zippo in his pocket. Shawn smiled a lot, smoked a lot of pot, and had quite a drawl from an upbringing somewhere in the midwest. He worked at an aquarium in Albany (CA) for a long time, and had been married and had a kid a few years before we met him. His daughter's name was Stormy, which frankly is one of the most beautiful names i can think of. He had fake front teeth, from jumping off of a roof into a pool, and missing, when he was a teenager. Ouch. He had no sense of smell because of gas rushing up past a faulty gas cap (the tank was between his legs) when he was motor-biking somewhere once. It went straight into his nostrils, with force. He eventually moved to Montana after visiting there with my sister at some point. He had 2 kids with the younger sister of the girl he initially lived with for years. Drama, drama! Such a nice guy, though, Shawn. He did a lot for people. Can't think of a bad thing to say about him, really. Miss him a lot sometimes.

#56, Jesse G.

Jesse was another of my mom's friends when i was in high school, although he was more like a friend-of-a-friend. Thank god, too, because i don't think i would have been able to stand it if he had been around any more than he was.
Easily 6 and a half feet tall, and with a springy mop of curly brown hair, Jesse was one cocky mutha. He always wore jeans and some kind of gutsy jacket, to go with his rockstar persona. Problem was, Jesse was a drunk. A mean one. And a frequent one, unfortunately. He would often be the person passed out on the couch in the morning, and i know that some of you know what i mean. He was loud and obnoxious and arrogant. Once, i was in the bath, and suddenly the bathroom door comes flying open (it didn't have a lock) and in swaggers Jesse, drunk out of his mind. I freaked out, grabbed the shower curtain and tried to cover myself up, screaming at him to get out, get out. But he didn't. "Relax...." he said, "it's nothing i haven't seen before." and proceeded to empty his bladder while i cowered behind the shower curtain. Good times.

#55, The Other Ananda.

The other Ananda was actually the first Ananda. He was a friend of my mom's when i was in high school; during the days when she still drank and stayed up all night with all sorts of interesting characters. He had dark brown skin, and was from Canada, but i think his ancestry was Japanese, somewhere. He mumbled erratically when he spoke, and always had a mess of black, tousled hair flying around his face, which made him difficult to understand most times. But he was damned entertaining. Always drinking whiskey and beer, playing cards or talking about literature or movies or records. He was a smart (but decidedly goofy) guy, and eventually moved back to Canada to work in the film industry. Sometimes he wrote my mom (and us) snail mail letters, which were always greatly appreciated. i loved him for that. Hope all is well with you, Ananda.

#54, Ananda.

The tiny, self-confident, ultra-blonde girl who worked part-time at the Meadows for a couple years. Ananda was definitely more interesting than anyone would've ever guessed. She had lived for some years in the U.S. Virgin Islands, where she collected rainwater on her roof to shower with (awesome!). Then she lived in Minneapolis, and when i knew her she lived near Lake Merritt in Oakland with her boyfriend Todd, who worked in the music recording biz. This was great because she gave me a promo CD for the (then-) new Massive Attack album, 100th Window. And once she gave me a Jane's Addiction t-shirt that slowly became one of my favorite articles of clothing. Her eyes were bluest blue, and every time we got Monkshood in at the shop (which wasn't very often), Ananda would remind me of how poisonous it was. "Just remember Heather- you need to wash your hands after you touch it." It was so cute! One of her favorite stories is one of mine to remember: Once while in the Virgin Islands, on the beach, she witnessed a fat (probably American) tourist in a Speedo walking along the shore with a boombox up to his ear, blasting the song "Hot Hot Hot" by Buster Poindexter. Oh, it's so bad it's good!! Thanks, Ananda.

#53, Prima C.

Prima was a ballerina. And no, i'm not writing a rock song here, people- it's the honest-to-goodness truth. She came to work at the flower shop a few months before i left, all coltish and pretty, brimming with energy and smiles. She was 16 going on 17, carried herself quite precociously but with a twinge of self-doubt that broke that whole wall down. She wore lipstick, and her brown hair was always back in a bun. She had a very grand, idealistic way of speaking, and i would definitely say Prima was starry-eyed, but i loved that about her. It was very endearing to someone as jaded as i was. Turns out her house had been lost in the Oakland Hills Fire in 1991, when she was just a few years old (i was eleven when it happened, and it shaped me forever). My bf and i went to see her dance in a ballet performance once, and she was so amazed that i showed up. It was adorable, and she was fantastic. Truly has a career ahead of her; if not in ballet, then in any damn thing she chooses. She's that girl. Go Prima!

#52, Dry Garden Guy.

There was a nursery near my apartment on Alcatraz Avenue, called The Dry Garden. It dealt primarily (perhaps exclusively?) in succulents, and drought-tolerant plants. It was a beautiful, beautiful place, with rusted metal sculptures everywhere, a resident cat, tall bamboo hiding the fence, and a little greenhouse filled with air plants, lithops, and the like. But the best part? The guy who worked there. Skinny, late forties-early fifties, grey hair and matching moustache. Button-up shirt and light bluejeans. Blue eyes and a salty attitude. It was always just him, and his surly, twenty-something helper boy. I think he probably owned the place, and was there every day. i loved that about him. Once, on a Sunday morning, Nat and i had just eaten breakfast at the Thai Temple, and on our way back home we decided to stop in and wander around. He saw us coming in, and said, "you guys look fabulous!* Did you just come from church? ::wry sarcastic grin::" We all had a good laugh at that, and left him to his work while we checked out the array of low-growing, creeping grasses.
He basically always told us that we looked great, and was nothing but adorable. I loved his sarcastic attitude and the way he would roll his eyes. I miss that place so much it hurts sometimes.
*swishy wrist motion.

#51, "Berkeley Dave".

So, i never knew this guy's name. But i would always see him walking down the street in Berkeley, with his particular way of walking: shoulders back, head held level (but not high!), arms swinging and legs flying. The outfit? Converse All-Stars, blue jeans, and a black bomber jacket (the kind with the shiny orange lining). He had incredibly long, straight, perfect blonde hair. Parted in the middle, cut to a perfect straight line at the bottom, near his butt. Always had a hint of a smile on his face, but we could never figure him out! As someone who practically wears the same thing every day, i was so incredibly intrigued by this person who literally did wear just the one outfit. Years later, driving with my sister, i pointed him out. "Oh, that's Berkeley Dave!" she said, just like that. As if i should have known. Well, i'm glad i do. He is such a staple of those days for me, and it always brings a smile to my face just picturing him. Hope you're still rocking the same outfit, Dave! Don't ever change.

#50, Joey S.

Joey was a skinny guy with a smile always at the ready. He wore lots of denim, and was frequently drinking a bottle of beer. He was one of my sister's older, cool friends. When he found out that i had a typewriter, he was very intrigued. Seems he'd been writing a book, which i don't want to give out the real title of, just in case. But let's just say that it had something to do with termites, and i mean as main characters. He gave me his fat binder filled with pages, and i was to type it up in my spare time. i was a fast typer, even though i didn't (and still don't!) know the home keys, or how to type properly. The awful part is, i got through a good two-thirds of it, then things kind of fizzled between my sister and all of those guys, and i never saw him again, not even to return his binder. He had assured me that he had more copies, but i've felt guilty about it to this day. Eventually i came to terms with my own feelings about my conduct, and when i moved out of my third-to-last apartment, i ripped out all the pages and put them in the recycling bin, leaving the binder out on the sidewalk for giveaway. Wow, i'm an asshole. I'm really sorry, Joey. Hope that all worked out for you.

#49, Kaarin.

Kaarin worked at a flower shop with my sister when i was in high school. She had really bad skin and kind of a strange, potato-ey face. She was very slight, and wore lots of black clothing. Long, dyed red hair, and a smoker's voice and laugh. She lived in a warehouse (the epitome of cool, back in those days) in Oakland, and once i went over to her house to take artistic pictures of her, which involved her lying sprawled out on the floor, with white fairy lights strung all around her, and fresh rose petals as far as the eye could see. I believe this was right after Valentine's Day, when there were lots of extra, open red roses to take home (ah, consumerism!). Turned out the roof was leaking, though, and it was raining, so the possibility of electrocution came into play and we had to cut the session short. I can remember those pictures plain as day, even though i gave them all to her. She eventually married someone much older than her, and i hope they're happy somewhere.

#48, Nicholas, the "German".

i met Nick on a train to Jack London Square, Oakland, CA. i was riding up from San Diego to help my sister move. It was toward the end of the trip, around Stockton, i think, when he broke off from his group of friends and walked down the aisle to my seat, eyes red and glassy, all smiles. Grey hooded sweatshirt and big jeans, short short blonde hair and blue eyes. He seemed harmless, so i wasn't too worried. He asked if he could talk to me, and i said of course! He sat next to me and asked what i was listening to (had the iPod on). Can't remember what i was, but soon he asked what kind of music do you like?, a question i dread. i like a lot of it! i offered up the iPod so he could see for himself. He got to Death in June, which is way more Nat's music than mine anyway, and just about lost it. Oh my god- i love this band, he said. Go ahead and listen, i told him. He played the song "Fall Apart", and sang along (loudly) with it. He had the volume up almost all the way, so i kept reaching over to turn it down. He was pretty happily drunk, and kept being amazed that we met, and was sad that i had a boyfriend, but ecstatic that i had this song for him to listen to, a song from a happy time way in his past. Apparently he was from Germany, moved to California (Stockton) at 16, then got put in jail for 6 years for something which he shouldn't have been, which is where he received his nickname, "German" (this was how he introduced himself to me, by the way. i had to coax "Nicholas" out of him). He was currently homeless. We all got off at the last stop, and i gave him my email address and phone number because i felt like he needed someone to take care of him, or at least to keep tabs on him. He said he really wanted to be my friend, and i certainly hoped he would contact me again.
But he hasn't yet.
I truly hope he does.

#47, Noah S.

Noah was a lot older than us in high school. Like twenty years older. Always in grubby jeans and a bomber jacket, with bad teeth and hair in a ponytail. He was cool, and casual, but also quite mischievous- one morning after my mom had left for work and all of us kids were off at school, my best friend and i made our way back to my house, where we met up with Noah, who brought 40s of Olde English (classy, right? Believe me when i say that we were not discerning, yet). We drank them right there, in the living room, until one of us (probably me) dropped theirs on the floor, where it landed straight up, leading to a momentary sigh of surprised relief. Anyone who has ever dropped a carbonated drink knows what happened next. All of the agitation that had occurred inside the bottle caused the beer to come spewing out in great freshets onto the rug. I freaked out and ran for some towels; Noah just laughed and laughed. Later, on the back porch, he told me that he would never quit smoking cigarettes, because his mother had taught him "never to be a quitter". I thought he was so clever! A few years later, when we had all cleaned up somewhat, i heard he'd had a baby. It was born with jaundice, the first time i had ever heard of that particular yellowing affliction. Hope things are alright, Noah.

#45 and #46, Jacob and Clare.

They were a young brother-and-sister team who lived across the street from our apartment building, next door to Maudelle. I can't remember their parents for the life of me, but the children were hardly ever let outside to play. They were both fair-haired, i think, and Jacob's was supremely curly and fluffy. He never smiled, and neither did Clare (Clara?). I felt bad for them. Their house had a little tiny white picket fence in front of it. The whole family was something of an enigma to the rest of us chickens. The little girl had a huge puffy birthmark on her upper arm that we were never to look at or talk about or point at or ask about. All of this hush-hushing only made the "problem" worse, in my opinion. If i ever run into either of these two again, i am going to make it a point to bring it up. I honestly think we could have all been friends, if not for all of the walking on eggshells.

#43 and #44, Phyllis and Ed.

They lived around the corner from us during the '80s. An older couple, friends of my dad's. I'm not sure how he ever met them, but they were such interesting folks. Ed had a cool replica of the Maltese Falcon. He was soft-spoken and always smelled so sweetly of the cigars he incessantly smoked. Phyllis was a brassy, cackling woman with short silvery-blonde hair and a cigarette always burning away in the ashtray (and sometimes even in her hand!). She made the most killer lentil soup, that to this day i struggle to re-create. They always drank martinis, and i have no idea what happened to them.

#42, Maudelle.

Maudelle was a sweet old lady with an afro that had gone white who lived across the street from us and who was always running for city council (and winning!). The bench in front of her house is one of the most magical places in the world. It sits under a birch tree with its white bark and powerful catkins. Maudelle's house sat in the background of this tableau, and my memory has her on the peeling front porch, holding on to the railing and waving and smiling into the sun. She was like a benevolent presence, always radiating.

#41, Uncle Danny.

Not really an "uncle", but an honorary family member nonetheless. Danny had a walrus mustache, drank beer all day long and farted up a storm. He also snored so loudly that the windowpanes would shake, rattle and roll. He was ever so friendly, though, and always in T-shirt and jeans. He helped my dad build the house up in Montana, and lived with someone named Troy and a cat named Budweiser who earned his name by lapping at the tops of leftover cans on the coffeetable.

#40, Petra.

Petra! You were our babysitter when i was 7 or so. A beautiful young college (UC Berkeley) student who ate baby food straight from the jar; bizarre. Pretty, brown hair and flowy white blouses. You taught us how to make "Hot Buttered Cheerios", which is still one of the most delicious snacks i have ever had. We would all pick blackberries from the wild brambles beyond our back deck, and you would help us bake them into tiny, bursting tartlets. You were summer, and bright happy sun, and trips to the park with freshly cut green grass, snacks and bicycle rides and lots of smiles. Thank you.

#39, Peter A.

You were my best friend's music teacher. You wore baggy pants with tribal prints on them. Often we would arrive at your house and there would be people in your backyard, playing bongo drums and smoking weed, always courteous. i think you were teaching her to play the flute. I had a tentative crush on you, mostly because your world was so different from mine. Later you were heading a fairly famous jazz ensemble in the Bay Area, and i was so impressed. Are you still the same? Sometimes i think i am.

#38, Angela Solarz

Angela, you were my troubled friend when i was ten or so... we both had a hard time, it seemed. You had a clear, open face, glasses, and a long, straight, light-brown ponytail. You lived with your mom in a tiny dark house next to the grocery store in our neighborhood. I was always scared in there. What did we do together? I can hardly remember. You moved away, and there was a sleep-over party for your birthday there, at the new place. My mom drove me, and it was like night and day. Big, bright windows, white paint on the walls, brand-new apartment fixtures, new and shiny friends. I didn't see you after that. Where are you now?

#37, Skylar.

Where do i begin?
I met you at a party. You were older than me by 5 or 6 years. Blue eyes, impish smile, great taste in music. We talked all night and you walked me home. We said goodbye on a street corner (did we kiss?) and exchanged phone numbers. For whatever reason it didn't work out, maybe it was the age difference. You slept on a mattress on the floor in the front of an indie record shop that your best friend's dad owned, it was bizarre. I fell asleep on the bed while watching Gummo with you and drinking vodka. Then some cooler girls we both knew came over and wanted you to go to the cemetery with them. You went. I was too tired, and fell asleep. When i woke up at 6 in the morning, you were there beside me, hair incredibly soft. I stole away in the thin blue light, and sat on the stairs of a nearby subway station to write you a letter which i never gave to you. I saw you a few times after that, and always wondered.

#36, Jeremy S.

We always referred to you by your first and last name. You were tall and lanky, with curly hair on top of your head, sides shaved. You were extremely nervous, and always bit the skin on your knuckles, as well as your fingernails. You were always making jokes that no one laughed at, even though they might have been funny. You called me "Frau M____", which annoyed the tar out of me because i don't have a smidge of German in my ancestry, not to mention that it should have been "Fraulein". In retrospect, Jeremy, i wasn't nice enough to you. You only wanted attention, and friends. For that i am truly sorry. I wish i could run into you again sometime.

#34 and #35, Scott and Jess.

I have to put these two in here together, because i knew them both much better as a couple than i did either of them separately.
They had decided to pack some things into your station wagon and leave Illinois for sunny California one day. They both applied at the art store where i worked, and were both hired- Jess in Fine Arts and Scott in the Paper Dept. Jess, 17, was small, with crooked teeth, short hair, and a serious drawl. Super adorable, you might say. She moved around everywhere sort of slowly and smiled a lot, unabashedly. Scott was much older, in his early thirties, and even though he was balding and shaved his head we were all so shocked to hear his age. He just seemed so... young! He also smiled a lot, but in a much more nervous way. He collected robot toys, and enjoyed talking to me about '80s music and old Dr. Who episodes. They both loved Belle and Sebastian, and tried non-stop to coax me over to that side of things. But i was always yawning when i heard the music, so it never worked out. They made Nat and i a mix before they left town, which is still one of my all-time favorites. Selected tracks include "Weird Day" by Sifl and Olly, "Superstar" (a Carpenters cover) by Sonic Youth, and "19-2000" by the Gorillaz. It was called Scott and Jess's Summer Mix '01. God, just saying that makes me want to cry. Those were good times.

#33, Danny G.

Danny. You made amazing woodblock art! I was so envious of your skills. Last time i saw you, it was New Year's Eve, and my mom took a bunch of people (you, me, nat, my sis, my bro) out to dinner (Indian food) and then to a movie (Lord of the Rings). Afterwards we dropped Nat off at work, and my brother and my mom went home. The 3 of us remaining went to a warehouse party to ring in the new year. Shortly before midnight, you confessed to me that you were "in love" with my sister (whoa!), and ran off to find her so that you could kiss her when twelve o'clock arrived. i didn't know what to do, but i was sure that you would get your heart broken (Danny, you were way too "safe" for her). i rushed around trying to find her before you did, and spied her drunkenly making out with an old friend of hers (big mistake), lying on the sidewalk behind someone's truck. Later you moved to SoCal somewhere, and i heard you were having art shows. Good luck with everything! i hope we meet again someday.

#32, Janice.

When i first met Janice, i was struck by one thing: her eyebrows. Well, that and her salacious metal-band tank tops and painted-on jeans. She was quite a sexy thing, very bold and outspoken, face almost always scowling for no reason. She lived in a rock 'n roll pad with Jackie, and one day they introduced me to the woman behind Janice's inspiration for her eyebrows: Nina Hagen. Ah, a whole new world! Janice once told me about reverse-rollerskating to Billy Squier's "Stroke" at a roller rink when she was younger, a story that remains fresh in my mind today. She was always having problems with her contact lenses, and did way too many stimulants. She constantly drooled over long-haired Hessian metal boys. Last i heard, Janice was finally married to one of those boys, with a child, and one more on the way! Hope you're happy, Janice, wherever you are.

#31, Jackie.

Jax! You were a rocker chick that came to work at Amsterdam Art. Long, wavy hair and Betty Page bangs, you were perpetually stoned and loved PJ Harvey possibly more than i did. i adored you! Your house (which you shared with best friend Janice) was a treasure trove of album covers, candles, fairy lights, death metal objects, and other pretty things. It was always so comfortable there. You would ply me with whiskey and beer. You wore flannels a lot, over thermal shirts, and had a very quiet, almost mumbling way of speaking that was quite endearing. Then you went to Scotland for a year. We picked you up at the airport in Matthew's van, and you solemnly pressed a tape of QueenAdreena into my hand, telling me that i "must listen". Thank you, dearly, for that.

#30, Matthew.

We fondly called you the "Gay White Aborigine". You had amazing earlobe stretchers, lots of beautiful tribal tattoos and facial hair worthy of a mountain man. You were skinny, and wore jeans, boots, and old Neurosis shirts with the sleeves cut off. And sometimes vests. You were vegan, but admitted to munching on pork rinds when your mom would send them to you from home in Louisiana. You openly stated that you couldn't stand glitter, but always made the exception for me, even letting me into your van (which usually contained: Neurosis in the tape deck, hand-beaded bone and feather necklaces hanging from the rearview mirror, and the strong smell of sage and patchouli) to drive me home on numerous occasions. Once, we ate a mango together outside the building, cut with your pocket knife. A highly-treasured item with super-secret status that floated around the art store was a picture of you, at seventeen or so, with long hair and no facial hair, grinning broadly into the sun ("No way, that's not Matthew!"). You were always drinking whiskey and inviting us to bonfires out on the beach in San Francisco. Last i heard you moved back to Louisiana. Hope you weathered the hurricane(s) alright. Miss you, Matthew.

#29, Jonas.

Jonas, you sat at the register across the aisle from me, and would sit and stare all day long. I wasn't sure if it was me, or just that you actually had a staring problem, but eventually you asked me out on a date. No one had ever really done that before, and i was very nervous. I wasn't even sure if i liked you but i was too nice to say no, and you were such a sweetheart... we went to see Princess Mononoke at the UC Theater (back when it was still there), and barely talked the whole time. We took the bus home in the rain, and when my stop came you stood up and we had a very awkward goodbye, trying not to fall over and trying to decide if we should kiss or not, juggling umbrellas and left-over popcorn. Ha, ha. :) We didn't go out again after that, and you moved away shortly thereafter, to go to art school. You always wore Mouse On Mars T-shirts, and later told me that i was the spitting image of your ex-girlfriend, who was also named Heather. Weird!

#28, Mike Neal.

Mike Neal! Nobody could call you by just your first name. You worked in Fine Arts, and were probably one of the best artists we ever had working there. Cowboy boots and a far-fetched anecdote were your two main characteristics. We found out later you had epilepsy, because you had a seizure at work one day. I always enjoyed your (Texas?) drawl, and your surreal wood-panel paintings. Always a pleasure to see you at parties, my friend. Hope there will be a next time.

#27, Disco Dave.

Dave, you worked in the outlet warehouse when i first started working at Amsterdam. I had a major crush on you, but you never even looked at me once; always seemed to have your head in a book, or comic. You were a photographer, which i admired, and when i complimented a photo hanging on the wall behind your head you actually gave it to me! Would you believe that i still have that photo? It is darkly exposed, with a lilypad and dewdrops. Just lovely. Once, you were playing a CD that i thought might have been Concrete Blonde. It turned out to be "Cross Bones Style" by Cat Power, off of their album Moon Pix. Without looking up from your book, you told me to go ahead and take it, as you had found it lying face-down on the floor under a shelf in the warehouse a few days before. Take it i did, and a new love was born.

#26, Bryan.

Bryan worked in the framing dept. at Amsterdam Art. He was very large, wore tie-dye shirts and loose pants, and always had a painted-on orange dot between his eyes. It was his third eye. He smelled like patchouli and kept a picture of the Hug Lady on his register when he was still a cashier. Bryan was an extremely soothing presence, wherever he was. When my cat had kittens, we ended up giving him the middle kitten, a girl, who had long grey hair. She was my favorite and i was sad to see her go, but giving it to Bryan was the best option i could have wanted. He named her "Durga", after the Hindu goddess. Bryan, i miss your bear hugs!

#25, Blas.

Blas. Blas Espino. I had a gigantic crush on you during the first few months i knew you. We worked in the same room in the back of the art store. You were short, but strikingly handsome, and the only problem was, you sort of knew it. We flirted a lot, innocently, over the years. You had a penchant for sketching, and introduced me to Egon Schiele (thank you). Hope you are successful now; you definitely deserve to be with all that talent. One of my best friends also knew you and adored you back in those days; we only recently discovered this. Heartbreaker!

#24, Ronnie.

Aw, Ronnie. It breaks my heart to think of you! You had a crush on me when we worked together at the art store. When they introduced the "employee wall", and you put your painting up, i couldn't believe how good it was. You had a bird-like face, and a long, blonde ponytail. You were sort of a stoner hippy, always wearing corduroys, and such a sweetheart. You wrote me the first (and only?) love note i ever got, even though it was more of a tortured pouring out of your heart after i told you i couldn't go out with you. I was in a self-hating time in my life, to the extreme, and i just couldn't believe that anyone could or would ever seriously like me (i'd been burned a lot in the past). It was really hard to have to tell you that. Last i saw you, years ago, you'd bought a small drum machine and were moving to Oregon. I never paid you the sixty bucks for the painting, which i still have, until a few months ago when i looked you up online. It was nice to find you again, Ronnie. Hope life treats you well.

#23, Winthrop.

The receptionist for awhile at the art store. Winthrop reminded me of R. Crumb mixed with John Waters, but without any of the latter's smiles or sarcastic bent; he was extremely quiet and deadpan, which made his in-store announcements very interesting, and completely inaudible. Pretty funny, actually, that he worked there that long. He was ill, with something long-term, and was always eating soup from a box. Tomato, Butternut Squash, Cream of Broccoli. His diet was very specific. He used to pull on my ponytail, and it drove me nuts. Allison and i would sometimes call up the radio station and request "Owner of a Lonely Heart" and dedicate it to him, which was not very nice now that i think about it. It was really all in good fun. He was a pretty well-established cartoonist, i found out later, and the last time i saw him he was giving someone an acoustic guitar lesson in a park in Berkeley.

#22, Melody.

Melody, without you i never would have been introduced to Nat, and for that i forever thank you.

Melody was a girl i worked with at the art store. She had a French surname i can't remember. I had a huge crush on her- idolized her, even. She had almost a Clara Bow thing going' on: short, dark curly hair and smoky eyes. She was stoned a lot, and had a lot of really cool friends. She was always going out to a club at night, or having a rockin' party on the weekend. Everyone liked Melody, even the hip-hop guys up in the graphics department who would smoke weed with her in her van in the parking lot. Once she spent all afternoon at work listening to the radio to try and win Cure tickets. Nat adored her like a puppydog, but she had a long-time boyfriend, so one day she said to me, "You know, you should really meet my friend Nat, you guys have so much in common!" and the rest is history. I think we both miss her very much. She was in a band called "Bleak" for awhile, then moved to New Jersey with her new boyfriend Brock (who had spiky hair quite similar to Nat's!). Melody, where art thou?

#21, Smitty, the other Allison.

Wow. What can i say about her? Thin, blonde, straight hair. Small, girly face, but a raunchy attitude and a sly laugh to match. Always stirring up trouble. Liked hamsters, and Britney Spears. Also: reading true crime novels and listening to The Dwarves(link is not safe for work!). She was a hard girl to figure out. Once a friend of hers got into a fistfight, and ended up with a bloody nose. Allison painted a portrait of his haggard face on a Kleenex, with his own blood. The rust-colored result sat on a frame on her desk in the Ordering Department, until one day i confessed that i had to have it. She instead painted me a mock duplicate, using, alas, red and brown paint. I still have it, though.
Once we went to the Ivy Room (bar) for a long lunch hour. We drank rum and cokes? i think, and the waitress was ancient, the bottles dusty. She and i were one of the few people who went to work on the morning of September 11th, and only a sparse few customers wavered in and out of the store in a daze. We all had nothing to do, really, so she and i made a run to get everyone bagels, and drove around aimlessly for awhile smoking cigarettes first. We weren't even "friends", really, but it just seemed like the thing to do. Allison was alright.

#20, Allison.

You had red hair, a plump face, and a piercing off to the side between your nose and upper lip, which normally i can't stand but it fit you, somehow. You were hired after a trade show, during a brief period of success within Amsterdam Art. Marketing, or advertising, something like that. You called me "The Countess", because i was the gothy accountants receivable girl. I actually liked that nickname! You had a brassy, '50s vibe, and where the hell are you now? You were fun, girl.

#19, Rob.

Rob. You were so good at making my best friend sad. You would bounce around the corner, with your big smile squinching up your eyes, blonde curls springing and sproinging. Your tiny (deaf) dog Rosebird, was always right behind. You knew everyone, and everyone knew you. You were everybody's friend. Only, you didn't know how to treat people who actually cared about you, and it would hurt them to hell. I watched, time and time again, as you broke her heart. But you were so damned nice to the rest of the world. Apparently, you were an excellent painter, and a recovering alcoholic who finally fell off the wagon. Sometimes you still call her in the middle of the night, and i wonder who the hell you really are.

#18, Oscar.

Oscar was a "homeless" man who always sat on a couple of milk crates next to the flower shop, smiling and saying "hi" to people as they walked by. Every day, when i got to work, Oscar would say "how are you" in his particular way, always the same. He made a lot of money, just sitting there all day, and sometimes during the holidays he would guard the shop for us overnight, when we had too much on display to bring inside. Turns out he had a house, a car, and a wife! Strange.

#17, Leslie Rose.

Leslie was our "manager" at The Meadows. She was the best person we could have asked for for that particular job. Sweet and accommodating, with a warm smile and quick to laugh. She was somewhat big-boned, but very feminine, and had a funny way of rolling her eyes and being just the right amount of dramatic. plain hair always back in a ponytail, and jeans... Leslie bought us special cups in the winter to keep our constant cups of tea warm, and even a space heater one particularly cold holiday season (we worked outside). She was caring and generous, and just an all-around lovely person. She ended up marrying a modern-day professional silver prospector named Stuart, and moving to Winnemucca, Nevada, to a street named Moon Lane, then later all the way to Indonesia. Leslie! We were so happy for you.

#16, Felix.

Felix! You were so rad. Skinny skinny, with dark skin and glasses, and sort of bad teeth that made your face absolutely adorable. You always wanted irises, with some solid aster and eucalyptus. One day you found out i liked Station To Station, and you were ecstatic! Then we talked about Siouxsie Sioux, and you jumped up and down while turning in a circle and singing "Spellbound". This is one of my absolute favorite memories. Later, we found out that your aunt was a famous(ly barefoot) blues singer-Cesaria Evora-and you didn't want to talk about it! Maybe it embarrassed you. You were too cool for words, Felix. I miss ya.

#15, Ani.

You made custom cakes, and came by to visit us girls at the flower shop quite often. We were always thrilled to see you. One day you went to the doctor and found out your heart had a missing beat, which was why you were always sighing. Your husband was a jazz musician, and actually had an extra heartbeat! This was kismet for sure, we all decided. You were short and wore pretty fabrics; always had eyeglasses on and usually a big pair of lovely elephant earrings; a curiously low and strenuous voice. Sometimes still, when i sigh for no reason, i think of you.

#14, Jamie.

You were a flower shop customer. Tall, genteel, coffee-colored skin and glasses. Usually wearing a dress shirt and slacks, carrying shopping bags of some sort. Always smiling and polite, maybe just a little bit reserved. Eventually we got to the point where you would wait for me to be ready (or just give me the look when i was helping someone), and tell me "you know what to do", heading off to put your bags in the car. Fifty bucks tops, something big and beautiful; colorful. I always enjoyed making your arrangements. One night Nat and i went to see Hilary Hahn perform at Zellerbach Hall on campus, and i saw you there! We were both waiting for our dates to come back from the restroom. You seemed so astonished to see me there! I guess you never know who's gonna like classical music. A few weeks later, you came to me at work and offered me two tickets to see Baaba Maal perform (again at Zellerbach), because you couldn't make it. "Senegalese pop music?" i thought. "Hm, why not!" We went, and had an fantastic time. So, thank you.
I miss you Jamie!

#13, Rachel.

Rachel was my good childhood friend, as sweet as the summer days were long. The backyard of her house shared a fence with the one around our apartment building, and i suppose one day our parents introduced the 2 young girls who were probably always curiously watching each other play.
One afternoon my sister and i were over at her house, and we were all jumping on the bed in her room. I remember also playing dress-up. i couldn't find a particular shoe's mate, so my sister came over to the closet to help me find it. When we turned around, Rachel was gone. Just... gone. We called her name timidly, looked in the hall, nothing. Then we heard the screaming and yelling. I remember feeling sick to my stomach as we crept over to the open window near the bed, and looked over the sill. She had fallen right out the window, down two stories, landing flat on her face. A pool of blood was spreading out around her head. Her mom was screaming. i think my sister and i ran out of the house and back to our apartment. i remember a helicopter taking Rachel away, and we never saw her again. They moved later that year. i heard later that she was "fine". What is "fine", anyway?

#12, my "Uncle" Ulysses.

Ulysses lived across the courtyard from us when i was very little. He had darkish skin, stubbly facial hair, was very tall and thin and quite handsome, if i recall correctly. i always remember him wearing white. He had a sitar, and tons of records. There was always incense burning on a low table in his apartment, usually a stick stuck in a stone from the beach, one of those that is worn full of holes from decades of swirling around in the ocean. He died of AIDS in '82, i think, or maybe it was '83. At the end he wore one of those white masks you see painters wearing, and once he fainted in middle of the courtyard. My mom was his really good friend, and she took us all over to say goodbye to him "for the last time". He was the first person i knew who died. Sometimes i wish he had never gone away of course. We would have been pen pals, and he would have traveled the world, sending me exotic postcards.

#11 (Mama) Erika.

You were the senior lady at the flower shop when i started. You wore cowboy boots, overalls, and a cowboy hat with (i think) a snakeskin on it. You were a reformed woman; a former party-er and now a Christian and a mother of 3 lovely little girls. Tall and thin. Your husband was somewhat unimpressive, and we all wished better for you. But that was the thing about you: better was not an option. You always made the best of what life gave you. You worked hard. You were honest, and one of the nicest people i'll ever meet. We had a lot of the same tastes in music. You were glad that i liked '80s music, and would listen to Tom Petty. You taught me a lot of life lessons, even if you don't know it. I know money was always tight for you, and sometimes i want to send you money anonymously. I may even do that one day. Always enjoy seeing you when i visit Berkeley, and i hope that you never leave the flower shop, even though i know someday you will.

#10, Barbara.

Barbara. You and your husband (Joe) actually stopped to offer me a ride when i was late for work one day. I was a sweaty, angry, "goth" girl, and you were a pleasant, plump, older couple with the nicest smiles i had ever seen. Completely taken aback, and disarmed, i climbed in. You said you'd recognized me from the flower shop and were heading up that way. I was so grateful, and from then on we were great friends. You would often come by and see me while Joe parked the car, with your somewhat struggling gait, wearing color-coordinated outfits and smelling of powder and perfume. You always had such lovely lapel pins, and one day i complimented you on a particular one, a bee. You immediately began to unpin it, to give it to me. I protested, but you were firm. I wore it all that day, and in the days since, i have worn the dozen or so others that you gave to me over the few years we lived in the same city. You always said that you saw a kindred spirit in me, and i couldn't agree more. I hope you are well. Thank you (both) for everything.

#9, Doctor _____?

I will have to ask my mom if she remembers his name. We later described him as "dreamy", because he absolutely was the most handsome doctor we had (or have!) ever seen. He was young, tallish, with chiseled features and lovely brown hair and eyes. A kind smile. I was seven, and had just shattered my elbow, which required "a specialist". We sat in the waiting room for hours, and it turned out to be him. Totally worth it! He was so caring afterwards, asking me repeatedly if i was alright. And he fixed my elbow up like a charm. "The $8,000 Elbow", we call it. Thanks, Doc!

#8, Mrs. Wyatt.

I almost hate to give Mrs. (Ms.?) Wyatt number eight, as it's my favorite number. She was a tiny, evil old woman who ran the after-school care at LeConte. (This is where i first remember ever eating "Bumps on a Log", ugh!)
She had a shock of white hair and a mean, wrinkled, dark brown face. She always wore puritanical dresses with a belt, which was what she used to hit us with. 16 years later, when i was working at an art store in the same city, i was on a lunch break and saw someone who looked like her pushing a shopping cart full of aluminum cans. My stomach dropped and my breath left my chest. It was actually her. We walked right by each other, and i instantly felt like a 7-year-old girl again, certain that she recognized me and was going to screw her face up into mine and tell me how awful me and my brother and sister were.
She didn't see me or say a word, just shuffled by mumbling to herself... I remember thinking that even she didn't deserve a life like that.

#7, Ron.

Ron was a school counselor at LeConte. He was a huge black man with a booming voice and a sweet disposition, and for some reason i always think of him in shorts and a big T-shirt. Some things i remember about Ron:
Once, after a rain, i cried profusely at the boys who were smashing the worms that had crawled out from the grass onto the concrete playground. Ron put his arm around my shoulder and led me away, and told me just to ignore those boys.
Once, he was absent for a few days, and we found out that he had stepped on a rusty nail while patrolling the yard during recess. Everyone talked about it for days, and we all thought he might never come back: "tetanus shot" sounds like a death sentence when you are young.
When i broke my elbow at the age of seven, i was out of school for a couple of weeks and all of my classmates made me "Get Well Soon" cards. For some reason, Ron was chosen as the ambassador with the mission of bringing these cards to me at home. I remember i was lying in my parents' bed in our apartment, it was kind of dark in the room, and he was talking so quietly and smiling so much. I was so awed to have him in my home!

#6, Mr. Irish.

So for some reason i'm on a school-teacher kick.
Mr. Irish was quite possibly the most awesome elementary school teacher ever. Anywhere. I had him for 3rd grade. His biggest (no pun intended) claim to fame were his size thirteen feet! They may have even been larger, i'm not sure. He was sort of a gigantic gentle giant, who always knew how to have fun and engage the class. Although i think it was in his class that we dissected a squid, and then cooked it in the microwave and ate it with ketchup. I was very sad that he allowed this to happen. He later died fairly young, of a heart attack (was i still in school then?), and pretty much everyone in the community mourned the tragedy. We loved you, Mr. Irish!

#5, Mr. Harbin.

Quite a change from kindergarten. Mr. Harbin was my 1st grade teacher at LeConte Elementary School in Berkeley, CA. His face was always red with anger, and he had an extremely shiny (and red) balding pate. He was thin and wore glasses, and had a terrible habit of smacking the backs of our knuckles with a yardstick when he thought we were misbehavin'. Not a fun year. Our backs sure were straight, though.

#4, Mrs. Frost.

Mrs. Frost was my adorable kindergarten teacher. She was ancient, and spoke so quietly that once she asked me to do something and i didn't understand (hear) her, but i was such a shy kid that i was afraid to ask her to repeat herself. I went off and picked up some random object, and brought it back to her. She was so sweet about it, but i remember a puzzled look in her eyes as i walked away. She wore glasses and had a pile of soft, white, wavy hair stacked on top of her head. i couldn't have asked for a kinder, gentler introduction to public school life. She always felt like the grandmother i never really had.

#3, Kurt.

Kurt was one of the loves of my life. I was fifteen and he was twenty-five, i think. Much older than me, but we were kindred spirits. He was the first person i ever thought of as a "soul mate". Light blue eyes and raggedy blonde hair. Torn up jeans and flannels. In a band, i think. He drove an automatic minivan, and would always drive with his left foot up on the seat, completely relaxed. Once we listened to a Cantonese radio station on the way to Safeway to buy beer, because he swore to me that after a while we would begin to understand it, that that was how language worked. And you know what? After a while we did.
Our whole relationship was kinda like that, actually. We had a lot between us that was unspoken. We shared many many great silences together; whole afternoons would pass by without either one of us saying much. We both liked Smarties and listening to Nirvana. Once he wrote a song about me on the spot, sitting in the sunshine on the front steps of my mom's house. He played it on acoustic guitar and i think someone else was there. Normally that would have embarrassed me, but it made me feel so good instead. It was weird to be around someone and not feel shy. That was the greatest gift he ever gave me.
One night at the end of that summer, he kissed me under a flagpole. We were both drunk and it was awkward; there was not much feeling in that kiss, and i think that started the end of it all. He probably realized that i was too young, and i probably realized that it would never happen. I'm pretty sure he had slept with my older sister and some of her friends, anyway.
We drifted apart rapidly after that. Then i found out he was very mixed up with crack, and not doing good at all. This was bad news. The last thing i have heard about him, though, was that he got married, became a Christian, had a baby, and started to play in a band again. I can't say that this doesn't hurt my heart sometimes. But good for you, Kurt.

#2, Jessica.

Jessica! You followed us off of the bus that afternoon, even though we got off at the wrong stop. We were going to Cirque Du Soleil (Corteo), and so were you. You thought we were actually in the show, that we were performers who were just running late. Later you told us you had wondered why we didn't just take a limo around town instead of the bus. You asked us if we had dressed up special for the show, then were impressed that no, we look like this ever day. The dedication! you said.
Turned out you were an undergrad at the same school where Nat was currently a grad student, and it even ended up that he was your TA for an English classics class a quarter later. You were so adorable that day, and had a purse with little cartoon birds all over it. It was great fun walking to the fairgrounds with you, and running into you on the bus after the show. Sorry you didn't enjoy it as much as us! You were such a doll.

#1, Travis.

Travis! You worked with me at Amsterdam Art. You wore candy necklaces and Strawberry Shortcake T-shirts that made my stomach butterflies flutter into each other blindly. You had lovely wide, sleepy blue eyes and perpetually messy dirty blonde hair. Your posture was bad, but it only made you cuter. You were always smiling. I had the biggest crush on you.
Then one day you were late coming back from lunch, and we found you outside, sitting on the sidewalk, leaning dreamily against the building in sweet slumber. The only thing was, it was raining. And you were on heroin.
They fired you that afternoon. The rain added extra sadness. Where are you now, Travis?

Here we go.

I wasn't sure i wanted to do this. And i especially wasn't sure i wanted to be involved in someone else's project, when really i just need to mentally de-clutter. And by de-clutter i actually mean that i wish to carefully remove all of the random memories of people long lost that i carry around in my brain, give them a nice spiffing up, and place them lovingly in tiny bell jars for all the world to see.

I don't want to forget about these people.
But i don't have enough room for all of them here. ::taps heart::

I need to take them out, but not take them away.

Not sure where/how to get started; i've already posted three of these on my first blog, 3 of my friends who've died. I think that i will leave them there, as they are perhaps more hefty and more valuable than the randoms (no offense, random lovely folks) i will be listing here.

Hm. Okay! Looking a little more at some of the other x365 posters, it looks like not everybody is going with a harsh word-numbering restriction. Honestly, i'm not sure it's fair to demand that each person i remember be categorized with the same number of words. After all, then we wouldn't have such gems as Barbara's #31. I quite like the anonymous tenderness she expresses there. Although, i do admit that i have a (very bad) tendency to drag things on. In my defense, it's because i type things exactly as i would say them, and that i often talk too much. And yes, i suppose that that is not a good thing. Sometimes less is more, and all that. So i say to Dan, the creator of x365, that i will not abide by his guideline #4:

1. decide if you're going to go with the original recipe your age = your number of words or if you want to modify it in some way (haiku, 10 five word lines, whatever, it's all good if you're writing)
   

...and that i take umbrage at this paragraph, found elsewhere:

"You are absolutely allowed to "change the rules" to suit yourself. However, you should also realize that to the best of my knowledge no one who has changed the rules to make it easier (less restrictions) has actually completed all 365—one person who made it harder (added restrictions) completed their 365. It's the challenge that will keep you going."

Hm. Don't toy with my emotions, Dan!! Don't tell me it's okay, then passive-aggressively admonish me for the thought. (okay, maybe now i'm just projecting.)

In any case, i'm getting a little off-track here. Maybe i should just say this:

I will make the list.
It might be less than 365.
It might be more.
I will write as many words as it takes for the description to be right.

BUT

...i do hereby sincerely promise to make an effort not to write any long entries. And what do i mean by "long", exactly? Well, i'm not actually sure about that, see ;)
::sigh:: Must this be so complicated? I guess this is why he went with the age rule; my problem with that is that i am 28, which ain't exactly a whole lot of words to go with. We'll see what happens.

I guess i should just stay loose. Unattached from x365 officially. But hereby offering a big shout-out to him for the inspiration. :) There! Now i'm not breaking any rules ;)

And so it begins.....!