I lay in bed ready to write to you. I don’t remove your decorative pillows off your side of the bed. Just my side. The empty side. The “Mr. & Mrs.” embroidered pillow at the front of the bunch. Announcing your domain. To whomever entered into our bedroom, they knew who the boss was of this house. Who’s running the ship.
Bullshit. You didn’t run the ship. I did. With you. We argued. Yes. I won most of the time. Or you thought you’d just let me win to make me happy. But with all honesty, I won most of our debates. I outthought you, I outsmarted you, I outrationalized you, I cornered you, I touched your beautiful face with my hands and fingers all over your face. Teasing you, kissing you. I miss you. My fucking god do I miss you.
You draw me in so deep that I keep falling and forgetting to tell you about my days.
I have to wipe my tears first. I need to relax. I need to be calm.

[Cig Break]

Okay, yesterday was an amazing day. I stayed home. I worked from home. I was free. Alone. No, that’s not what it means. Alone as in more of the warmth of “home.” I would love for my team to work out of my home twice a week. I’ll take once a week. I think I’m going to start working more from home after yesterday. I had some early conference calls, presentations, operations, etc.
Chris Ottinger tells me he’s heading into the city to see me. He wanted to show me his progress with a project he’s creative directing. I tell him I was working from home. To swing by here instead.
He redirects, and heads over.
We had an awesome time ideating, collaborating, planning, exploring possibilities, and the future. We were bonding as friends he and I. We’re were understanding each others philosophies in life, work, marriage, whatever.

He started to describe why he likes me. He said something the caught me. I stopped in my tracks.
I’ve been hearing this term since I lost you.
Friends describe my writings to you as “Raw”. Ottinger drops it in my face. “Dude, you, our agency, the work, it’s all fucking RAW.”
“RAW” I think to myself. I love that. That’s how our spirits are like, RAW. Everything about us is RAW except for experience. My lord do they have experience.
They’re working on a video project. An internal communication video. I am dying to get involved, but I know they’re having a blast. I let them. I watch them having fun. It brings pleasure to my heart watching them thrive in their element.

Free of all the bullshit that comes with being an ad agency. So much fucking ego. So much fucking power trips. Talented people get lost in the clusterfuck that is the advertising world.
You have the “Yes” agencies. They’re a dime a dozen. They yes the client to death without really looking after their best of interests. They’re afraid to say “What if?”, or “I disagree.” They don’t know what we know. They hired us to help them build a brand and sell their brand. There has to be a dialog. An intelligent dialog about the possibilities.
Then you have the “NO” agencies. They’re the elites. Our say or the highway. We don’t have time to waste with you. You’re lucky you’re working with us. Stuffy, some could become corporate, assembly line, robots.
Where do you think we play?

 

 

 

Today wasn’t too bad. Working with a startup company. Rebranding them, doing all their advertising, marketing, social, media, PR, the works. We get a cut from online sales. Signed the contract before I came home.

Putting a team around me to just do this. I need my geniuses around me. The select few. I pick them carefully. Each is the best at one thing. But they all complete and complement each other as a team. We’re recruiting. Anyone who’s unsafe, desires creative freedom, good natured, no ego, just wants to create, blue sky the shit out of an idea, this is the place for you. That’s what we’re building, baby.

I haven’t heard from the pet adoption agency. I filled out an application at Petsmart adoption center. They said they’d get back to me within 24 hours. Nothing. No word. My name must’ve not sat well with the reviewer. “FUAD. What kind of fucking name is that? Is that supposed to be spelled FAUD? That sounds about right. Must be some dumb Pakistani or Arab.” My god was my name mispronounced a million times. I fucking hated my name. Never liked it. You didn’t like your name either. You told me about you being teased in school because of your name.
“Dumbass, everyone was made fun of their name growing up. You weren’t the only one getting teased. Fucking idiot. You must’ve made fun of other kids’ names.” I say.
“Yeah, but I still don’t like it.” You say back.
“I like your Italian name ‘Jiovana,’ it’s sexy. Maybe I’ll just start calling you that.” I tell you.
A minute later.
“Babe, could you tell the fucking kids to quite down? I’m on the fucking phone with a client.” I yell upstairs to you.

I loved working from home. Since 2007. You and I designed and built my desk down the basement at our old house. That fucking bay window angles were all fucked up. The numbers were all over the place measuring it.

You bought its legs from IKEA amongst other accessories. You were always into house accessories. You always had a vision. My office. I wanted it redecorated. I hated it when we moved in. We just never got to it.
You designed it. You did it from A to Z. Floors, walls, shades, shelves that I never hung for you. I need my partner to tell me how high. I don’t have you to tell me how high to go. I don’t have you to tell me where to go, what to do, how to live, how to love, how to be a best friend. Oh my god baby, I fucking miss you. I can’t help myself but to cry tonight. I’m dying baby. I’m trying to stay strong. But I think I’m finally breaking. I can feel it creeping in. It’s inevitable.

 

[To be continued.]

 

Okay, I’m back. Got it out of my system.

Monday, next day. You picked me up from my house. Jasmine, Mary and myself were sitting at the front steps of our house. Red Lebaron convertible. You pulled up and parked. You came out of your car in a black thigh-high skirt and a black tight blouse. You were hot.
“Her?” Jasmine asks.
“Yeah her.”
You came running to me. I introduce you. I believe I rushed the introduction. No time for chitchat. Need to go on our date.
I had called you earlier. You were shocked I called you so soon. You didn’t think I would. I asked you why. Why would I wait?
You didn’t know how to answer. I stumped you for the first time. Our first time. I had a thousand first times with you. Almost 10,000 of them. Every day I spent with or without you.

We jump in your car. I hold your hand as if we’ve been dating for a while now. I would say a month into a relationship? I’m so out of the fucking game. Urggg… I hate being misinformed.
Okay, whatever the number before you’re allowed to hold someone’s hand. I guess when it becomes official? Urgggg… I never had to worry about holding your hands everywhere we went. I didn’t care where we were, in public, in the car, at home, I always held your hands. You had beautiful hand. Beautiful fingers. Exquisite.

So, me being me, why wait for that assumed period, and just make it official already. But stand the course, don’t rush her into anything. Just let her know you like her. You already know she likes you back. Her body language. The way she looks at you. The way she smiles at you. The way she flirts with you. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see all the signs. The way they twirl their hair. They can’t resist it but to do it. They don’t even know they’re doing it. It’s like a tell.

My God you had tells. You were the worst liar I’ve ever met. You’d lie through your teeth and every time I’d call you out on it. I hate liars. But I tolerated your lies. I had to learn to live with them. Just read the tells, she’ll tell you when she’s lying. I’d let you know that I know. That I love you regardless. That you didn’t need to lie with me. Lies make things worse. Situations get escalated quickly because of a simple lie that will get covered by a bigger lie, and so on until it explodes into everyone else’s face.

I did lie to you. I hate liars, but I lied to you. You called me out on my lies as I called you out on yours. I admitted my lies to you. You admitted yours to me. Get your anger out. Yell, scream, curse, whatever helps communicate your frustration. We use the word “Hate” a lot. I think between partners regardless of orientation, it’s more of a frustration that your partner is not doing, listening, achieving, providing, whatever.

The healthiest thing that you and I had was an amazing open line of communication. People underestimate the power of communication. Open. Completely open conversation. A confession. A mistake. A lie. Your worst moment. Your partner should be able to forgive. At the end, they need to be able to have enough love to forgive. If you know in your heart you will forgive someone for their worst act because you love them, then why go through all the bullshit of not sharing your deepest fuckups with your partner. If they judge you, label you, pretend to be holier than thou as if they’re saints, then fuck’em. They’re not your true partner. I’m sorry, that’s a fact. Unconditional love means forgiveness. And the two partners who understand that completely will be able to have an open line of communication. There will be consequences, I’m not making it out to be a cake walk here, but at the end, both know that there will be peace. Therefore, you and I would get all the shit out in one big swoop and get it out of the way. Move on. “I love you baby.” “Love you too honey.” “kiss” Done.

I have a long day tomorrow. Not sure if I’ll be able to write to you. The Louix are tomorrow night. Your favorite event. You loved dressing up to it. You were a fucking star.

Good night my sweet.

I love you,

Me.

 

[Continued…]

 

Shit, I forgot. Bella came in earlier while I was in the middle of writing you. “I wrote her something.” She tells me.

“Can I see?” I ask.

“No, I want you to include it in your letter.” She orders me. “But I don’t want you to read it until it’s posted so everyone could read it together, including you.”

“Okay.”

 

From Bella:

You didn’t answer the phone… Why didn’t you answer the phone mommy… Why didn’t you stay with me… No I don’t want to blame this on you. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t write to you for the past few weeks. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I tried yesterday morning on the bus, I went into notes because I had thoughts rushing through my head as if they were tiny thought bombs that blew up my tears. Me, bawling my eyes out sitting next to some random eighth grade boy, I felt bad, he had to feel that awkwardness contemplating whether to ask if I was OK or to just keep talking with friends. Later that day at lunch I tried again. I couldn’t… I’m sorry. I don’t want to write to you. It just hurts. And if I could curse believe me I would. Sometimes I slipped up in front of you just because something really ticked me off and it spewed out as if I were you. People called you a sailor for the mouth you had attached. This was irrelevant. I’m gonna be honest with you right now as you will read this one day. I’ve been lying to dad, I have been. But only because I don’t wanna talk. I don’t wanna relate to his troubles. I don’t want to be around anyone. No family. No friends. I hate every minute of this miserable life without. It’s true. I can’t stand waking up every morning without you there to lightly tap my shoulder and then abruptly and unnecessarily yell at me to wake up. You were my live and in stereo alarm clock. I don’t have that alarm clock anymore it’s broken I smashed it too many times. But anyway back to my real trouble about going to school everyday, it sucks. That Monday when I went back to school, people were already throwing gossips and rumours and all around curiosity about you. I walk down the hallway, heads turn. I walked into school that morning thinking I was regretting it. I got hugs and thoughtful but pitiful things being said to me. I despise the pity. I’ve grown onto the pity. It’s tiring. My old self was always in the mood to talk without someone forcing me to. Now I feeling like my special outlet is talking as if you didn’t die. But you did that’s the one thing that could change my personality. Because I was you. Everything I am is you. That piece of me is no longer me. And I don’t know how to put it back together. It’s broken. Before, I was a new toy not even out of the box and then in just a simple hour it was like I was the toy nobody wanted. I didn’t feel like nobody wanted me but I felt as if, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. You always finished or helped me with my sentences. Sometimes I couldn’t utter a word.
And again anyway, people at school started saying ‘’ What is she even doing here?’’ or ‘’ If my mom died I wouldn’t come to school for a month’’ and you know what, that actually infuriated me and for the thirtieth time I heard someone say that, I wanted to smack them and say ‘’You wanna know how dumb that sounds? That you even have to suggest that I am not strong? Well I am, and for you to say that you wouldn’t want to have a support system after an experience like this? Guess what.” nah I’m not gonna finish that. I felt if I actually said that too someone I’d sound weak almost in a way. Not weak but. What’s the word confident? No. Strong? No because I didn’t work up the strength and confidence to walk into school hurt and powerful as ever. I didn’t wake up that morning in denial. I woke up that morning yearning to be comforted by my incredible friends. Not a single one of those “so-called” incredible friends stook up for me and said something pretty awesome bouncing back at those comments being said. They just heard and decided to run and tell me someone said it. Cowards. That’s what I have to say because most of them in this situation are insecure cowards. My dad told me that when someone tries to relate to me and say ‘’ When my grandmother died…’’ or ‘’ When my mom’s best friend died…’’ not at all in anyway shape or form does that have anything to do with having your own mother, the woman that birthed and raised you die in an instant…
I don’t want to know the person I’m going to become without you. I know Dad is trying and I know he is ten million times more upset than me. But he doesn’t know how to raise me mom. He just doesn’t. You did. You always knew how to understand me and listen to me and reply to me in your own Janine way. It was you and me forever. I never in a million years that you would be the person that would die. Not you. Never. It didn’t occur to me that it would happen. No I’m not gonna finish writing to you like this. OK let’s continue with, this disgusting little thing someone you know I’ve hated for awhile now said recently to my friend behind my back about you not me you. I’m gonna be honest with you and say this little sentence to you. It pissed me off. You would have gotten mad for me saying that but dad said we are going to start doing things and liking new things now that you aren’t here. But again she an awful person. Just clarifying. You always told me to never be a mean girl but let’s be honest. You and I are both mean girls at heart but we would laugh about it. But again about what that irrelevant girl said (sorry if her mom reads this later on, but you should reallllllllllllyyyyyy be ashamed of how you raised her just saying mom you would agree mom) She texted and I quote, “ Just because my mom isn’t dead doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings!” I moved past it but every time she walks passed me in the hallway I give her the b*tch stare you and I practiced constantly. She shakes in her ugly outfits. They are so misguided and she really seriously needs help with her constant need to annoy everyone she sees and ask out every “hot” guy she sees. Gross. Who does that. It’s not right. She has no respect for anyone but herself. She’s narcissistic She’s not right if anything. Some friends told me they would beat her up after it got spread around she said it. I don’t feel bad. No one went that far with talking behind my back. Everyone before than hated her now she crossed a line. You hated whenever I hung out with her. Alright whatever gossip is over. I told you I’m a mean girl at heart. It’s fine, you raised me like that and I wouldn’t have it any other way because you had fun listening to my rants. I cried a few times writing this but I mean now my bead is all wet. Great.
I’ll keep going. Dad asks me how my day was. I lie. I tell him it was good. It wasn’t. Something is holding me back and it’s not you, you’re actually pushing me. Two of my teachers are being absolutely incredible. I talk to them differently. I talk to them like we are friends. We look at each other like friends. We greet each other like friends. It’s weird but two teachers is enough I don’t want to be teacher’s pet. I have all A’s I think and yeah I guess that’s OK but I don’t want to go to school I’ve been breaking down this week. I’m emotional. I can’t hold it in like I did last week or the week before. The longer I go without you another chunk of me breaks off and I’m afraid that by the beginning of March I’ll be nothing. without you. I don’t want to be nothing. You wouldn’t have wanted me to be nothing. You saw every ounce of potential and success I had flowing throughout my body. You knew I was destined for greatness. You knew what I was capable of and you shared it with everyone who would listen. It embarrassed me but my whole life I’ve been praised and boosted by you now I don’t have my daily confidant. Who will inspire me to stay in fashion and soccer. Dad can coach me in soccer but he won’t tell me that I’m the next Alex Morgan like you did. He won’t. He can’t. Because he knows soccer and you didn’t. He knows 0 to hero. You saw me score a goal and you thought I was the next Diego Maradona, the next Pelé.
Alright I’m officially drained. I love you and I miss you. Goodnight Mommy.

P.S. Don’t tell dad but there is another boy. And Dad when you read this don’t say your gonna get your gun out and polish and reload it. Just don’t. The crappy dad joke is over.