Eulogy

There were a lot of things I liked about Lita. I liked that she brushed her teeth compulsively. I liked that she would go to the library to "hang out" with friends in the foreign language section. I liked that she convinced herself she could speak Russian, and that she would attempt to do so whenever possible. There were a lot of things to like about Lita. Her bed was never made, not even for company. You were just as likely to find her listening to some indie vinyl as you were to find her listening to a Russian composition in E minor. She knew a little about a lot of things. And the things she didn't know about, she would convincingly fabricate in order to have something to tell you. She was never boring.

The big thing about Lita is that, when it came down to it, she really had her own sort of sphere. Everyone was intimidated by her; she wasn't the smartest girl in any of your classes, she wasn't exactly popular, she didn't shower every day or apply any ordinary conventions to her life. Everyone knew who she was, but no one knew her. And she was okay with that. She was more than okay - she was happy with it. She didn't want other people because she felt that they made life far too confusing.

Her pillows were all stained with mascara from crying at night, but she she never bothered to change them. She would forgo food in order to purchase hair products. She would make major decisions, like whether or not to apply for a job, or if she should tell people how she felt about them, based off of an orgasm. Her cell phone was always on and she was always awake. She would answer at two in the morning and sound just the same as she did when she answered at three in the afternoon. Even if you had woken her up. She would pick up her phone even if she was in the shower. It would sound something like "Hey darling, I'm showering right now, but call me back in ten." And you would- another thing about her that I liked was that she never called you. You always called her. So you would call her back, and she would answer, usually something along the lines of "One second, I'm still not wearing any clothes. Give me thirty seconds to throw something on." She would never leave you on hold for more than ten seconds, though.

She, more often than not, would create hold music for you herself.

Lita was always truthful. Granted, she wouldn't tell you if you didn't ask, but when you did ask she was certain to answer with complete honesty. If her car smelled of cigarettes and you asked her how often she smoked, she would honestly tell you that she did at every opportunity possible. She was a chimney sometimes. Her vices would come and go bi-monthly, so you never had to worry for long. January and February she would drink seven shots of espresso a day. March and April she would go through a pack of cigarettes every two days. May and June she would drink nothing but tea, twelve cups a day. It was always something different with Lita.

She would spend hours in the bookstore, using it in the same way that she used the library; as a place to dwell. She rarely purchased books because she rarely had the funds to, but she often milled about the aisles on philosophy, art, architecture, photography, and language.

Lita made a million plans with every intent to carry them out. She forgot most of them by the end of the day they had been brought up.

Sometimes she would call in the middle of the night because she would suddenly have an idea for a novel or movie that she wanted to tell you about. Most of the time she would leave said idea in the form of a three minute voice mail. She would make lists of all of the things she wanted to tell me about when we weren't together so that she wouldn't forget them, and she would fill me in on all of the missed, minute details. I wouldn't know about the fact that she had been accepted into art school for months after the fact, but I could easily have told you the color of the handkerchief on the dog that she passed by on the way to get the mail that day. The details were more important to her than the big events.

Lita did ever thing passionately. Whether it was blowing bubbles in the park, writing an essay for an English class, watching a movie, or painting a landscape - in her mind, all were of equal importance and were to be done with equal fervor.

She did not, however, feel passionately towards people.

She loved those who could never love her and didn't love those who did. Why Lita, why couldn't you have loved us? Not loving us made you miserable, and it made all of us miserable too. Why couldn't you have loved me? Damn it.

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I was asked to write a eulogy for Lita, so I'd like to take this opportunity to say that she was a whore and bitch and that I detested her above all others. She was my best friend and I have never loved nor hated someone so passionately.

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Damn it Lita, why did you leave me?

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It is hard to appreciate Lita as a person without taking a look at where she came from. A look at her past. I would like to preface this by saying that Lita was highly secretive - she loved nothing more than a secret - so you might be hearing some of these things for the first time. And I'm sure there are things that I don't know about her that you could perhaps fill me in on after I'm done giving this speech that her parents asked me to write. Because they didn't know her and therefore didn't know what to say at their own daughter's funeral. They assumed that since we spent the most time together, that since I was her best friend, that I would know her and have something to say about her, perhaps a kind word or two.

They were wrong.

I didn't know Lita any better than the rest of you.

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It is difficult to speak about Lita without speaking briefly of her life up until recently. There is an awful lot about her that I don't know, that perhaps no one knows, but I will do my best.

Lita, for all of her confidence, was constantly searching for herself. She always seemed so certain of where she was at, but her opinions and perspectives changed day by day, hour by hour. She was always worried that she was wrong, always full of doubt.

When she was ten, she decided that life was easier if she just agreed with whatever her parents said and kept her opinions to herself. She didn't have many opinions then, but she knew that in the future she would and she wanted things to be simple. When she was twelve, she was sexually solicited online but never told anybody, save for a friend of hers who also had been by the same guy. When she was thirteen, she tried to kill herself with prescription drugs out of the medicine cabinet. She threw them all up and was fine a few days later, with no one any the wiser. She wrote a suicide note two days after the event, however, which she kept hidden behind a picture frame in her room in case she should, someday, succeed. When she was thirteen, she tried LSD, ecstasy, marijuana, and various other pills that she couldn't have named. When she was fourteen, she was clinically depressed. She didn't tell anyone, except for a few friends, and they didn't know the scope of it even. When she was fifteen, she met the boy of her dreams. He turned out to be gay, and they became best friends rather than date. Instead, she dated a girl to try to feel things out. This ended terribly with her fooling around with a boy at a party on a couch in a room filled with people, so there could be no denying the event. When she was sixteen, she had her first serious boyfriend. They had nothing in common, extremely little to talk about, and didn't talk often at all in the five months that they dated. He broke up with her on Halloween, and she became very good friends with quite a few of his very good friends to spite him. When she was seventeen, she and her best friend, the gay one, decided to date. She was an idiot, fell in love with him, and cried herself to sleep every night after they broke up. This was about the same time that she started smoking cigarettes, and also losing weight. Which was the last thing she needed to do. She tried dating other people, but was hugely unsuccessful because he was still her best friend and she didn't want anyone else, ever. She could only see others for what they weren't of him. They often spoke of getting married, going on extravangant trips, and building a house together. She often had anxiety attacks after she would leave his company and ruined all of her pillow cases with mascara and tears.

I guess what I'm getting at with all of this is that Lita put on a good front because she was miserable. Everything she wanted she couldn't have, and she was so damned sad. Pathetic, almost, but she carried it off.

Lita was an actress.

No one would ever know how unhappy she was, and that was how she wanted it.

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Lita, I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to tell you exactly who I was but I was always so scared to and now you're gone, oh, you're gone Lita and I'll never be able to tell you and there was so much to say why couldn't I have been brave, Lita, why couldn't I have been brave like you? I wanted to tell you how much I cared about you, I cared about you so much damn it I cared I cared I cared and I'm so sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, Lita, I hope you loved me even though you didn't love anyone I hope you loved me because I loved you I love you now I love you and I miss you.

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Lita was brave. She was intelligent, kind, and extremely, unequivocally happy. She had her times when she was down, yes, but when it came down to it, down to the very bare bones of her life, Lita was a joyous, happy, amazing person.

If there is one thing that I learned from Lita, it is that no matter what happens, no matter the heartbreak or the tragedy, there is a way to handle it: let yourself be sad, cry, weep, moan. And once all of the sadness is out of you, look to the brighter side because there is always something to look forward to, even if it is just a changing of the season or the way the grass grows back, resilient, after being staved off at winter.

There is always something in life to look forward to.