Not Forgotten

I knew a girl growing up.  I met her in dance class when I was three or four; she had big brown eyes and dimples.  She was quiet, soft spoken and shy.  She didn't let most people in and felt she couldn't relate to most.  She was spontaneous and disheveled and she danced as a way to express herself.  She wanted nothing more in this world than to be loved and she was my very best friend.  I remember her poodle skirt birthday in second grade and how she would come cheer me on at my gymnastics competitions and later in my cross country meets.  That was her, always rooting for me, even when I fucked up.  I remember she wore a purple skirt and top with panda bears and  purple leg warmers the first day of fourth grade.  I remember because I was so happy to see her.  I remember her being the first one at my mom's funeral in 9th grade.  I remember watching her dance in college, going to a performance in Boston with the percussion section of the band. I remember spending a summer at a little apartment on the beach with her, drinking rum and crystal light raspberry iced tea and working at Walgreens.  I remember moving away at 20 and thinking I would miss her forever, but forever was only two years, when she moved down after graduation.  I remember her holding my daughter right after she was born and singing Mocking Bird to our children as they screamed in the back after a day at the park.  I remember hiking with her constantly and her saying once that sometimes she thought we were the only two real people in the whole world.  I remember getting a call from her mother a cloudy morning in June saying she was dead.  I love you, Erin.  Always.  Happy 32nd birthday tomorrow.

Our song.