Ode to Andy

My dearest bestest friend in the whole wide world is leaving me. She’s recklessly abandoning me and my yet to be discussed future neurosis. She’s going to another province where she found a better job where she’ll get an office and a window. I’ve been traded in for a window.

So I guess she’s decided to grow up and be successful. Pffff. I threatened to hold my breath until she said she would stay. My diabolical plan was bound to work - except I got all dizzy.

I told her everything. Now who am I going to call when I’m looking for some advice on an embarrassing rash? I would have gone to Jeeves from the Ask Jeeves website, but the Ask people have terminated the charming butler, and frankly I don’t care to trust anyone else. Only my best friend and a cartoon butler.

Besides worrying all weekend about who would talk me off the ledge after I realise I just ate a quarter pound of expired cheese I thought was supposed to be blue, I got to help Andy pack. This meant sifting through a wardrobe big enough to clothe a small country. Clearly she could not bring it all so I helped her part with about two thirds of her dearest birthday suit wrappers.

“No! Not thooooose,” Andy whined.

“It’s an old t-shirt with arm pit stains. It’s so old I can see directly through it.”

I waddled past her in a pair of her old clogs and threw the monstrosity in a large heap in between a purple sock and a pair of bright blue leather pants, across from an unattractive blond wig.

Her wardrobe was a museum of her life. The sun dress she wore for her first day of high school, the oversized basketball shorts she wore at fifteen because she thought “they were da bomb, yo.” Then there was the sweater she met her current boyfriend in: I was there for both the purchase and the first encounter. Finally, I discovered a collection of local t-shirts of the “I heart NY” variety which act as a live travel log.

Yes, I could finish this story with a predictable ending. I could use her cleaning the closet as a metaphor for the transition of her growing up and starting a new life. That after boxing up her old clothes and bringing them to the Salvation Army, Andy told me how she felt about that new chapter of her life story had begun, and we all had a good cry. On that note, this is how it ends:

Clothes strewn about the room, half folded, mostly just piled up in various corners of the bedroom.

“I brought two spoons,” Andy said as she settled next to me leaning on one of three piles of miscellaneous garments.

“Awesome,” I said as I dug into the tub of Rocky Road ice-cream.

We got lazy, lied in old clothes, and watched some predictable tv comedy. And that is why I’m sad Andy is leaving.