Milango

August 23, 2012

“Clive Barker lives in San Francisco with his partner and his pet bird Malingo,” says the Abarat dust jacket. This is how I think of her. She is not the yellow dressed now ex-best friend who locks herself in bathrooms. She is the breath of fresh air geshrat who accompanies our hero on long adventures; but more importantly, is her companion. She is the dreams of before sleep slumber party girl talk and keeper of notebooks and the penpal Nora Ephron writes movies about. Sometimes I think of us doing stupid giggly girl things and me forgetting about the hole that plagues my brain. She isn’t. I pigeon hole the idea of her into my lost puzzle piece, hoping something will come from my diligence. Somehow everything I want will fall into place and we will fight the world’s ills with GIRL POWAH and awesome other trivialities. We are superheroes.

This is where I think we will be. My fifteen year old self basks in this daydream for many moons. It turns into a fiery, and embarrassingly uncontrollable lust– which I realize later is a strong (weird) manifestation of my deep desire for companionship.

You know what’s cool? Aside from all the angst I’d felt over the years, I finally got what I wanted.

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