The Shattered Prayer

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Today is the day that brought to the world the wonderful, exciting, beautiful creature known as Che! What a fantastic day in history this day is. In celebration of Che-Day or Che-Mas, I will recount some of the wonderful ways in which my life is different for having known her.

In the past, we on SP would recount the horrible things that happened on the day that one of us was born, but this year, on my birthday, Che changed tradition (something she has been known to do more than once!) and recounted the way that her life was different for having known me. Now, I will recount the ways that my life is different for having known her.

I’ll start with the small ways my life changed. If I had not met Che, I would not have had any doughnuts on the night that she first came to my house. You see, when we first invited her over we said, “You wanna come over?” to which Che said, “I guess.” and we said, “Good. Stop by and get some doughnuts on your way.” In a move never to be repeated, Che obeyed the request and brought over doughnuts.

There was a time in my life when a moment of reminiscing would not have included doughnuts, but that was then. This is now.

If I had not met Che, I never would have eschewed a gay bar for the biker bar next door. Che was always good at getting me to go places I never would have gone on my own, or even wanted to. Biker bars, the Masquerade, Denver.

And speaking of Denver, without Che, I would never have known that the pollution in Denver smells like limes. That is something that I think everyone needs to know.

If I had not met Che, I would have never have almost arrested. For picking a flower. That is the greatest thing about Che. You get to do things that you never would have done on your own, but there is always a twist to it. Getting arrested! For picking a flower. Starting a fight! At a grand opera house. Tripping your ass off! Over a Hardee’s sign.

Nothing is straightforward with Che. And I love that.

If I had not met Che, I would have probably called people by their real names. Che and I could never be bothered to learn someone’s real name, so we just called them whatever we felt like they should be called. Hux was so much better than “James.” Who could remember “James?” “Hux” was beautiful and “James” was too boring for such a beautiful creature. And his last name was even more boring. So his name had to change. Over the years we met Pox (who fashioned his hair with epoxy resin), Hux (because it was his license plate number and we were stalking him), Johnny Bill (because his real name was very high falutin’ — We also called him “Just White Trash 3″ ), Beached Whale (Because really, R the Oobie was just a hideous person), and Ozzy. Beautiful Ozzy. Why was he called Ozzy? Because in each of his ears, he wore rings. Long story.

We even called a guy we met on a bus to Seattle “Tim.” Because he reminded us of Ozzy, and Ozzy’s real name was Tim. And Tim turned out to be a fucked up little dude. Although he was planning to move to Reno, he moved to Seattle on the spur of the moment because we told him to (people would always do what we told them to). And during our “poetry writing on the bus contest” Tim wrote about killing a beautiful adolescent boy. At least I think that is what the poem was about. I really hate poetry.

If I hadn’t met Che, I would not have had so many stories. High Rise of Horror. Party in the Swamp. Attack by Christians on Bourbon Street. Otherworldly Church in St. Louis. A Week Without Sleep on a Bus Ride to Seattle. I have had some wonderful times with Che, and all of them become good stories.

Che once said, “If I had to choose between something that was safe or something that would make a good story, I’d choose the good story every time. No matter how dangerous.”

I love that can do attitude!

It is hard to write how I feel about Che because it is so emotional, and we don’t do well with emotions. For a while, we had the motto “Buck up.” No matter what was happening in your life, someone close to you died, horrible attack on the street, the advice we’d give was “Buck up!” Quit yer whining. Yer bringing me down! As Che said, it is amazing to think that two such egotistical people could end up meaning so much to each other. (I mean who else would spend another person’s birthday talking about the way their OWN life had improved knowing that person.)

I’ve known Che for over 18 years. Hard to believe. And for many of those years we’ve lived literally thousands of miles away from each other, but every time we’re together, it is like we just had the party in the swamp last night. Che said all of the things I want to say in her post on my birthday. We know when to get all up in each other’s business and we know when to back off. We laugh at our own jokes and aren’t embarrassed at all by it. And we each respect the other’s pathological desire to be the bride at every wedding and the corpse at every funeral.

Che is simply a fantastic person. Interesting. Witty. Hilarious. And don’t let her fool ya with that gruff exterior, she’s kind and generous. And loving. I’ll risk being killed for saying it out loud.

(And as wonderful as she was in my eyes, she got even more wonderful when she was so welcoming to Mojo. I swear those two are separated at birth! That they get along so well reaffirmed my love for both of them!)

In innumerable ways, my life is better for having known Che.

So Happy Birthday! Here’s to many, many more to come (even ones after 2010!)

Buy me a beer!

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