The Lights Go Down

“Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” — Anaïs Nin

The message came up on my phone on Saturday morning and caught me completely by surprise.

“Heather 420 party.”

It was just a brief note I had put in my calendar to remind myself about my friend Heather’s upcoming 420 party.

The number, of course, refers to April 20, the official stoner holiday, where marijuana smokers celebrate their love of weed.

Heather had lost her partner, Jen, a few years ago. I rarely smoke weed, but I was really looking forward to seeing Heather again.

But I didn’t go to Heather’s on Saturday night because she is no longer with us.

I can’t believe I’m writing these words, but Heather died earlier this month and now these two bright lights in my life—and so many other people’s lives--are gone.

I met Jen and Heather years ago when they came to a solo performance I was doing with a friend at a performance space on the West Side.

It’s the kind of event that only your friends and family will attend—if you’re lucky, but Jen and Heather had seen the show listed somewhere on the internet, and, luckily for me, they decided to stop by.

They introduced themselves after the show, we hit it off instantly, and went out to nearby saloon for a round of beers.

We stayed in touch, and I’d go to parties at their home or meet them in the city for drinks—a lot of drinks, come to think of it.

I was so thrilled when they invited to their wedding. The ceremony was conducted by a Wiccan priestess, who danced with me at the reception.

It was quite an affair.

And these nutty things kept happening to me whenever I met up with them. Like the time I went to meet them at some scary theme restaurant and ended up walking into a peep show joint—entirely by accident, I swear.

Or the time I met Jen and Heather for lunch one Saturday afternoon, got wasted beyond belief, and ran into an ex-girlfriend on my way to catch the express bus.

I’m sure their great company—and the wine--got me through that awkward meeting.

I was half-convinced these two had magical powers of some kind. They certainly put a spell on me.

I introduced Jen and Heather to my sister, and we went to their apartment for the craziest Halloween party where I dressed up like a convict and my sister wore a nun’s outfit.

Naturally, we were devastated when Jen passed away three years ago.

My sister and I had talked about meeting up with Heather, but it never happened. The 420 party would’ve been the first time I’d see Heather since Jen’s death.

And then I got a message on Facebook that Heather was gone.

It’s hard to imagine a world without them. They were so kind, so loving, and so fun to be around. I think of the good times we had, and I imagine the good times we all should be having now.

It all feels so wrong, so unfair.

My heart brokes as I looked through the photos on Heather’s Facebook page. There are some many pictures of them together, on vacation, attending parties, and just living.

They were so of love and life. I keep asking myself why, why aren’t they here anymore? Why can’t we all get together and laugh like we used to?

I like to think that Jen and Heather have been reunited some place, that those two beautiful souls are traveling to other worlds, other realms where they’re needed most.

Safe travels, my dear friends. I’ll see you somewhere down the line.