In Memorium: Linnny G.

I went to the park with my friend Linny today. It was the day after her birthday so naturally I brought her an almond croissant and a latte. She hated them both.

Linny wore white tights that made her bum look smooth and proud. Her purple top, which had the words "Deport me" emblazoned in large pink letters across her chest, sat loosely on her fair, clean skin. She looked good enough to eat.

Our plans for the day were fleeting--set in anything but stone. She brought a book of Sudoku puzzles and an anthology of poetry written by Venezuelan orphans. I called her and her little books silly and she threw grass in my face.

We sat underneath a giant oak tree a few feet from one another. The sounds of rackets and bats hitting balls and sloppy men drinking beer echoed in the distance. My eyes were closed and my heavy head rested on my knapsack. Linny's pen scratched dutifully away at her Japanese puzzles and her frequent exhales of annoyance told me that she wasn't very good.

Linny and I met a few years ago at a party thrown by my publicist. She was vibrant and alive and different than the cocaine-addled models that had made a habit of throwing themselves at me. Linny's eyes were big and bright and full of secrets. I asked her to dance and she told me to fuck off and die. I called her a hatchet-face. We kissed. Our teeth bumped and she bit my upper lip. It was awkward and unpleasant. We spent the rest of the night alone in the courtyard of Jerome's (my publicist) home. Linny was passionate about Venezuelan politics and we discussed fervently the policies of Hugo Chavez--in particular the cronyism, political patronage, and corruption that we both agreed plagued his regime.

I realized then that Linny was too intelligent to sleep with. I had too much respect for her and therefor could not degrade her sexually, as I was accustomed to doing to women of her age (18) and her body type (pretty perfect). Instead, she would become my adviser, my closest confidante, and above all--a dear, dear friend.

It was Linny who told me to leave Montreal and move back to the suburbs with my parents. It was Linny who told me to buy that pair of skinny jeans, regardless of my thick and chunky thighs. It was Linny who told me to fire Jerome, walk away from my six picture deal at universal, and take a job serving burgers at Wayne Gretzky's instead. Without her sagacious and knowing counsel, I wouldn't be where I am today and for that, I am eternally grateful.


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Linny passed away three days after that day in the park. She was 21.