Oh my goodness, the time is near. One chick and her dude are about to leave the H-town flow. Why would they want to go and break us up?
My stories are sometimes repeats of everything you already know, but I'm going to retell it anyway. Houston living has been a poof of magic that began on the 4th of July, 2004. That is when four people who really didn't know each other, save for some degrees of separation, had cause to move to this city beyond their better judegment and became instant, rollicking-good-time friends.
There is a tan, shuttered, two-story house with a red door that sits on the corner of one of Houston's tropically beautiful streets. This is our house, where we meet. The front room is blue, the kitchen white, but our favorite room is in the middle. We were all just there the other night for the Sopranos finale. Joel had spent the earlier part of the day making a Sopranos mix with songs either played on the show, about endings, or mobster-invoking. There was no fanfare about it. You had to clue in. When I heard Van Morrison's "Comfortably Numb" I thought of Christafah, tragic, putting-a-hit-on-your-lover Christafah, and I looked straight at Joel. I knew what he had done. The Sopranos previous episodes were playing in a loop to the soundtrack, the ladies started to roll in with bags of stuff, we were home.
Always give your love away
I have to write this one in stages, a little each day, like an ethnographer. It's cute the way we met, setting up dates to try each other on, but that's pretty typical. Michy, Ho, and me were tight from the beginning. I think that has a lot to do with the fact that our brothers, all three of them, have friendships that go back years--all the way back to the mall on West Campus. And we three have a great fondness for these brothers of ours. It was natural for us to be family. It took the other three girls a little longer to come around, first-year medical school for Steph and Heidi getting in the way. Mari hadn't even moved here yet. But once year two came around, the appeal of medical-school block parties, filled with prematurely mature, fastidious medical students lost its luster.
Adieu, adieu, adieu
It's almost time now. Last night we had our going away party. Sunday brunch in a few hours will be the last planned gathering. It's hard to say goodbye to your family even though you know your love won't change a bit. The people who fill up your day-to-days are the ones of envy because they get to have you more. Michy and Ho, we won't get to have you more anymore. We have to give you back to your people in Dallas, but we sure will miss you.