Wanted: One Spacebaby Shirt and A Few Missing Friends

Some friends of late, I seem to have lost like an old favorite shirt. One day while folding laundry I stopped short and thought, "I haven't worn or even seen my black shirt that has the stylized fetus in space on the front. The one with the word Spacebaby strewn shamelessly across the breasts." Puzzled, I tried to recall the last time I saw the shirt, but my mind returned with blank memories. I lost you just like that.

I was unaware of the transition until it was well into months of silence between us. Two unreturned phone calls and a myspace message later, I realized that you had no desire to talk to me anymore. I thought back and remembered that we shared giggles over some cigarettes and red wine, last I saw you. I thought back and remembered that we had a heart to heart about love gone wrong during a 2 a.m. phone call. I thought back and remembered that I called to tell you that I made it home safely from your house and you promised to call back after your morning shower. That last one was four months ago. Still no phone call. That's a long shower. I lost you all just like that.

It's sad and unfortunate, but the optimist in me, somewhere, thinks that we can find our way back to friendship. It's the same optimist that thinks when I stop looking for my Spacebaby shirt; I'll serendipitously find it during a monthly hunt for my keys. I'm a hypersensitive girl, but I haven't cried, yet. Not yet. I do know, though, that if I get that Reason, Season or Lifetime, e-mail on it's yearly round through cyberspace, the denial will break, the heartache will swell and the tears will run free. I've lost you and I miss you all just like that.