Michelle blew through town on Saturday night, she who is the embodiment of a theatrical musical, a tornado of song and dance.
It was a quick 12 hour visit after dropping her boys off in LA for a hello with their daddy, he who he tried to beg off early, he who sees his boys once a month for just over 24 hours, and I was so pleased she told him to knock it the fuck off.
We taught the boyfriend's nephew how to slow dance. We rocked the electric slide to Johnny Cash at the Merc. We kicked at the 2am low tide. We saluted the sun while the 9am high tide washed over our feet. We sneaked through the crowd outside for a brunch of poached eggs atop dollops of guacamole and crab cakes and cinnamon apple beignets soaked in creme anglaise.
Man, was I able to get some things off my chest, about the boyfriend, the ex-boy, the friends, the ex-friends, things I can't write about here or anywhere, things I can barely think about, and then there's Michelle, this bastion of openness and non-judgment, this pillar of love and support, and it all just comes pouring out, just between she and I and the moon and the ocean.
Of the boyfriend, she said, "Well, I'm jealous. I want what you guys have," as he danced around the living room, so in love, so in love.