Sarah

There are five girls in my life that I've consistently thought about while masturbating and one of them just died. She was wild and Swedish and we met at a nightclub back when I was cool. She walked up to me and announced she was gay and asked if I was too and then we got into percentages. She was all talk -- 9 months later she was back in Sweden and engaged to some dude.

That night we made out intensely for 20 minutes in the back of a limo that we indulgently hired to take us from Avenue to Motor City. Her friends were all riding with us and I didn't care. She made me feel special, chosen. She was so, so beautiful.

There was more to it. I had recently split up with someone who had a wandering eye and a penchant for blonde models. Here she was, exactly that only better. She wasn't after my boyfriend, she was after me. She held my hand and stroked my hair and I completely swooned.

Needless to say, when I found out she died of cancer at age 26, I was stunned. And it's so cliche it's almost not worth mentioning, but she was so vibrant and full of life -- it just didn't make earthly sense. It still doesn't.

Last night I read through all of our text messages. Her last one to me: "Come to Le Bain. Bring Laura." Laura, my tall, blonde, beautiful friend. I had somehow forgotten about that and the sting I had felt when reading it the first time. I had been telling myself that we were nothing but platonic until I felt those pangs of jealousy and knew there was something else, something more -- at least for me.

I want so badly to have more of a story. More than those scattered and frenetic nights of parties and bar hopping together. I want to miss her more than I do, and will, which is not to say I won't miss her at all, because I will. Very much.