Ginger + Diva

I used to have an interesting lifestyle, let’s put it like that. My friends were Ginger and Diva. I’d drive out to Ginger’s in the morning, she lived in Draper and we’d go to Starbucks. Diva lived there at the time. She’d be plopped on the sofa with YouTube or reality TV shows blaring from the television.

We’d smoke weed all day and lounge around. This is when I didn’t have a job. Ginger truly took care of me. She took me under her wing. Now she’s got a baby and I’ve got a hash pipe and things are different. 

I’ll forever miss them, the way things were. 

I lived at Ginger’s, too, in her spare bedroom. I spent enough time there, enough to feel like I lived there. I got a chilling call from her one day in which she said her boyfriend Cory had overdosed and died in their bed. I knew Cory, too, of course.

In 2019, I threw a birthday party for myself and invited 10 people. No one came. Except Ginger and Cory, standing there in my building’s hallway, with a bottle of wine. At Cory’s outdoor funeral, I cried and cried.