Recently, many of my friends have abandoned Los Angeles. Some say they will be back. Others, I know, probably will not. Molly is the latest to defect. She lives about 12 minutes away from me, a rare quality to find in a friend out here. In a few days she will live about 41 hours away, in New York.
Last week was one of packing, organizing, purging and selling. Along with other friends, I tried to help. We all had our own philosophies on what to do with her things. Pictures of ex-boyfriends? Trash. The automatic 35mm camera? Sell. Her library card? I think it got tossed. Then there was a notebook from graduate school with piece of paper taped inside. On that paper was a poem that Molly had written when she was a child. Her mother had typed and mailed it to her with a note for inspiration. Keep the whole notebook? Someone thought she should.
Molly gave us some things as well. I took home three beautiful plants, some tea, homemade preserves, a bracelet, an envelope of change (which will go to my perfume fund) and this sculpture. Molly is an artist, musician and teacher. She made this. He was resting in her shower, staring up at the ceiling. I noticed him when I used her bathroom. He looked lonely. I asked her about him and she asked me if I wanted him. I hesitated. I wasn't sure. She wasn't taking him with her? No. She was thinking of giving the sculpture to her parents because they were probably the only people who would want it.
She said she thought of him as someone from the past. A native who'd been here before us. When I look at him, I see someone from the future. Someone who hasn't come yet. His eyes are a little unsettling, but still, there is something comforting about him.
Bye Molly.
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