From Stacy Bryan, a childhood friend from Amarillo:
My first memory of us is riding through puddles in big wheels in the driveway of my front yard. I think I already had my green machine then. Or maybe it was pre-green machine. I was wearing jean cutoffs and a red plaid piece of elastic that was supposedly serving as a halter top. It was 1975 – so that was appropriate for 5 year old girls then. Or maybe not. Everything from the 70s seems illicit now. We stayed up late. Later than ever before because our parents were chatting and catching up after their years apart since medical school. Our dads had studied medicine together – and now they had children in the same town and were starting a practice together.
I remember making chocolate chip cookies at your house. And then we both came down with hepatitis. We went to see Grease together at the movie theater since it was just released. We could eat all the candy we wanted. It was a pretty sweat disease to have. If we lived in an arranged marriage culture –our fate might have been arranged at this point.
You always had fun toys at your house. Like stilts. Or a pogo stick. You taught me how to make hooked rugs. You had an actual Silver Spoons train. We’d make haunted houses to ride the train through.
You subscribed to “Sweet Pickles” magazine, and you would always have puppet shows with the sweet pickles characters. I remember putting on puppet shows where you would showcase your talent. I was better as the stagehand.
You were there when my grandfather was dying and I remember you telling me you had to go home because my grandfather was dead.
I remember when your brother and second sister were born. It seemed like we were so much older than they were – but it was only five years or so difference. My mom drove your mom to the hospital one of these times.
We both started at Puckett elementary the year it opened. I was in kinder, you were in first. We’d met after school for playdates since you lived across the street. We’d play the “kick the can” game in the street or play piano. You had books of music to all the cool 70’s jingles.
I went with you to Catholic church when I spent the night at your house. It seemed more mystical – and the drinking wine thing…at Methodist church, we ate crackers and didn’t have statues.
We made roller coasters for your hamsters in plastic Easter baskets – until the poodle ate one.
We both loved musical theater. We would have slumber parties that involved chicken McNuggets, Flashdance, All that Jazz, and we would dream of moving to New York City. You were the nutcracker prince. The Linus in the “Peanuts” play.
You were there during one of my life’s most embarrassing moments. We both tried out for Little Theater advanced troupe. While singing “Rainbow Connection” a cappella, I forgot all the words, and just hummed all of it except the words “Rainbow Connection”. I ran off the stage crying hysterically. I remember you comforting me and telling me I would make the troupe anyways – which I did – but I was too embarrassed to go back until high school.
We would take a bus to camp Kannakuk in the summer. It was a mega churchy camp near Branson, Missouri. Why did our parents send us there? I don’t know! You came from the Catholic Church and I came from the Methodist church. You were gayer than gay, and I was a rebel. We shared a sense of being outcasts.
You introduced me to new wave music – but not directly. I stole a cassette you made out of my friend Christina’s car. It was a soundtrack to change a life. How the fuck does someone in Amarillo know about this music? On vinyl? Pre-internet? But that was you! King of things.
We traveled to Europe together with Mr. Biggers in 1989. You were friends with Rob, who I had a major crush on. We flew to Berlin from Amarillo, going through checkpoint Charlie. We sat together for breakfast in Moscow aboard a ship that was bugged by the KGB. It still feels like a dream. Lots of jellied meat. Walking through the Hermitage – walking through palaces – getting shuttled through Lennin’s grave. Then the wall fell months later.
You went to Brown. How does someone from Amarillo make it to the Ivy League? You did though! Master of things.
We became the best of friends the summer during your college breaks. You came out like a god and showed the entire town of Amarillo how to do it. You were so brave and paved a road for others. We had many all night, possibly psychedelically fueled, adventures at your lake house.
We drove to Quebec City to disco during one summer at Brown. You were so good at disco-ing. This is who you were. At home Vogue-ing on the dance floor.
We both ended up moving to New York City after college to chase our dreams.
You eventually got me a job at Balthazaar – and I entered into a world of high class French food on your shirt tails. I didn’t last long, but what matters is that we were together in it for a brief time in our adult lives. We both lived through 9/11 months later.
You pursued your hidden dream of studying neurology and moved off to LA.
We reconnected later and discovered we have children the exact same age! “Toddlers in Tiara” competition you said.
Then, I got the news that you were sick. Christina and I hoped that you’d want us to say “Bye” (with a pinky wave). We flew out to see you and you left the world the next morning. Fucking brain cancer.
You’ll always be my hero. I just found you, my fairy godmother, peaking out of a high school photo I didn’t know you existed in. You’ll always be there making me laugh. No other nutcracker prince will ever do the role justice.
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