From Anna:
My memories, as I assume others’ memories are, come as short anecdotal moments that are triggered at the oddest moments. Memory has this way of providing gaps where you are unable to recall and then at other times it hits you with such force it is equivalent to a punch to the solar plexus, leaving you gasping for breath at the force of the memory. The acute pain, as everything around you forces you to remember, to recall, to make heretofore unseen connections in your universe. That cat on the fence compels the mind to somehow connect it to that vague memory from Halloween when you were twelve. That smell reminds you of hanging out during the holidays. That sound brings to mind that time. We rely so heavily on memory, on our perception of how things were, for perspective. We cling to our memories as a way to keep our loss alive, to keep them present. And while I struggle against the pain, I am also grateful that I have those moments. And so it is with so many of moments of Joey in my life, since we were 10 years old in glasses too big for our faces and rhyming last names (Coyle and Doyle).
My memories, as I assume others’ memories are, come as short anecdotal moments that are triggered at the oddest moments. Memory has this way of providing gaps where you are unable to recall and then at other times it hits you with such force it is equivalent to a punch to the solar plexus, leaving you gasping for breath at the force of the memory. The acute pain, as everything around you forces you to remember, to recall, to make heretofore unseen connections in your universe. That cat on the fence compels the mind to somehow connect it to that vague memory from Halloween when you were twelve. That smell reminds you of hanging out during the holidays. That sound brings to mind that time. We rely so heavily on memory, on our perception of how things were, for perspective. We cling to our memories as a way to keep our loss alive, to keep them present. And while I struggle against the pain, I am also grateful that I have those moments. And so it is with so many of moments of Joey in my life, since we were 10 years old in glasses too big for our faces and rhyming last names (Coyle and Doyle).
I could tell you about watching football player Joey eat a Sonic brown bag special—two burgers, two fries (sub one for tator tots), one soda, and a milkshake—in one sitting. I could tell you about the decapitated gummy bear on his rearview mirror in the Blazer that we watched morph through an Oklahoma year. Perhaps I could tell you about the shrine built in his mother’s house to my Furbie one Christmas. Or about the shrine that was created on his mother’s front porch and built of neighborhood newspapers that were laid out for the light up snowman and left for Joey to discover the next morning. Perhaps you want to know that he allowed himself to be held down and mascara applied to his white pale eyelashes so I could sate a curiosity of what he would look like with "real" eyelashes. Or about our impending high school graduation and standing in the parking lot at Surrey on the US map—me on Mississippi and him on DC—realizing how far apart we were going to be. I could tell you about the love affair he had with the linen clothes he wore as an usher in my wedding. I could expound upon Tina’s story of a freezing Joey loose in Chicago (the high those days he was in town was a frigid Windy City 9°F) and in borrowed cold weather clothes--I think I knew at that point he would not settle in the Midwest for school. What I want to share, though, is actually from Joey’s own hand.
As Scott and I unpacked into our new place in Portland, OR, last August, I came across the wedding gift that Joey had given us. Even through the tears, we were able to laugh, as we have for years, over this gift and the note he had written. I am so thankful that I have kept the note from him—written not in a nice card, but on yellow legal paper in his barely legible scrawl and taped shut at one point.
It is this gift and note that, after our 9th wedding anniversary and talking with Scott, I felt that I wanted to share with others because it so wonderfully captures the wry, sly humor of Joey.
So your big day is finally here. I felt I should write something to accompany my “gifts” to you and Scott. Before I start, I should apologize for any incoherency and for my handwriting, which is probably on par with the penmanship of a not-so-bright 3rd grader. Anyways, I just want to tell you how extraordinarily happy I am for you both. Your wedding marks the first time that a friend I truly care for has been wed. Also, it’s the first time that someone my age has been married and I haven’t asked myself, “What were they thinking?” You and Scott just seem so happy together that it makes me happy for you. Plus, I think Scott is a great person, not to mention that his last name doesn’t rhyme with Doyle. As I write, I can hardly believe I’ve known you for 10-some-odd years. I can’t recount all that has happened in that time in this note, I will say that I think my life is better because I’ve known you, and I just want to say thanks. My rather feeble to say thanks, congrats, & good luck, come today in a ratchet set & poetry. I thought the tools were a fine idea for work on the van until my father asks, “Is it metric.” So call me later & I’ll get the receipt. The book just sounded rather appropo; I always liked the Dead’s lyrics, & I know y’all like the music. In case you already have the book, I forged his signature at the front to make it extra special…sorry. So again, I just want to say how happy I am for you both. I wish you the best wherever you are; and know that wherever I am, if you need anything of me just call. With that, I send all my love & well wishes with you and Scott on this wonderful day.
Little did we know that our dear Joey was a forger—albeit with a good heart and intentions—but one who I knew that I could take him for his word: wherever he was, if I needed anything of him, all I had to do was call.
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