Jessica

I was going to write something about my summer travels this year to Columbia, Venezuala, and Cuba. I had plenty to say--until this morning, that is, when I received a call informing me that a good friend and former housemate, my favorite ski pal Jessica, had asphyxiated herself in the garage two days earlier. Needless to say, I've been pretty upset all day, and my travel adventures suddenly don't seem worth writing about. For that matter, it hardly seems as if I've been gone. My entire summer seems like a very short dream.

When I first met Jessica five years ago, when she applied to join our community, I was not really impressed. She looked and acted like the cliche blonde party girl, not someone I figured I could learn much from or even be entertained by. But she REALLY wanted to be a part of the house, and for that reason alone, I agreed to have her join us. And it wasn't a decision I regretted. I learned very soon why she wanted so desperately to be a part of our household: she had no family. Her parents had both died when she was young and she had been an only child. She had once tried to make contact with an uncle, but he hadn't seemed interested, so she created family where she could, among friends, lovers, and, eventually, in our community at the Lafayette House, where she became, in my view, our most vital community member, the only person in the house who really made us feel like a community. It hasn't been the same since she left.

Mostly because of skiing, she and I became good friends. She helped me through a couple difficult breakups and I returned the favor, learning, in the process, that she wasn't the simpleton I once took her as. I valued my time with her. Our friendship, like most friendships, was on and off, but I felt we were close, that we would both be there for each other in a crunch. Still, I can't say that I ever really knew Jessica intimately. I'm not sure anyone did. There was a part of Jessica that she didn't let anyone be privy to, concealed in layers and layers of happy faces. She had worked for Disney World before coming to Colorado, and she seemed to spend a good deal of effort trying to recreate that experience, trying to turn her real life into a Disney fantasy. In recent months, I thought she was finally coming to terms with the fact that life might not want the same fantasy that she did--that life didn't want to be Disnified--that life, as Rilke says, is always in the right. Apparently, she was struggling more than I knew.

It hurts to know how much pain she must have been in at the end. It hurts to know that the secret world of Jessica could have been so dark and desperate and hidden. It hurts and it scares. And, as I return from my vacation bronzed, well-rested, well-sexed, and stress free, it scares me to think that Jessica's world, dark and terrible, might be more authentic than my own.