I knew a girl once. She was for as long as I knew her, a bundle of energy, a ball of fire, a bottle of vodka, a pair of handcuffs, an inspiration.
She had a look in her eyes, it was there all the time, it seemed to silently, wordlessly say to anyone who was paying attention, "let's go get into trouble. C'mon, it'll be fun."
Her mouth was shaped in such a way, affected by her high strong cheekbones, that she always appeared to be grinning. It was a grin of mischief, knowing what she was about to do and anxious to get busy doing it. It was contagious, and yet, I don't think she even knew it was there.
You couldn't go anywhere with her without noticing how people reacted to her. It was instantaneous. She entered a crowded room and slowly, one by one, every head would turn and notice her, every face would either smile a naughty smile, mimicking the one on her face, or draw up in fear at the threat that she embodied.
Men were drawn to her. She was beautiful in a dark and very dangerous way. She didn't have the fullest lips or the biggest breasts. Her hair was long and brown. She wouldn't steal your breath with her body alone. She was beautiful, make no mistake, but most of her power came from that fire burning inside of her, the fire that shown through her eyes and her ever-present naughty smile. She was pure sex, like a bomb getting ready to explode at any moment. And she was as addicted to sex as she was to any alcohol or drug. Ten men couldn't satisfy her, although she was more than willing to let them try.
Sometimes she would call me late, late at night. Sometimes it might be 2 or 3 or even 4 in the morning. She had something on her mind and always, always she was intensely excited about it. You couldn't help but envy the perpetual excitement, the ever-present optimism inside of her. She had a million new ideas. Her mind was always racing. Her passions were always burning. She was frequently stoned.
She could drink like an Irish alcoholic, smoke like a Jewish New York lesbian, and run all night like an Olympic marathoner, all without ever seeming to run out of gas. Sure, she would get drunk, she would get high, she would eventually pass out, but up until that moment of drug-forced unconsciousness she was blazing along at full speed like the fireball she was.
I don't know when she slept. Even after partying all evening, then calling me at 3 or 4 in the morning to tell me about her latest inspiration, when morning came she was always at work, dressed professionally and looking perfect, and yet, somehow still radiating pure sex.
No one could keep up with her, although we all tried at times. Running with her was a thrill like no other. The danger, the fun, the ever present sexual threat, and even the times you'd get arrested because of her, was all somehow more exciting and fun than anything you might ever experience anywhere else in the world. But before too long, every single one of us would eventually run out of gas and have to stop to rest. Meanwhile, she rolled on, driven as if by some invisible force deep inside of her, some insatiable need of which she would never speak.
All of her life she reminded me of a train, rolling down a steep mountain, having no brakes and perpetually building up speed. But the mountain never seemed to have a bottom and the train never seemed to stop accelerating. She defied logic. She defied the laws of nature. Each time you felt convinced she was about to fly off the tracks, she'd just keep going faster, faster, faster, powering through every obstacle like a meteor.
One thing she admitted to, the only thing she ever openly cried to me about, was the loneliness that went with her amazing and exciting life. No man could keep up with her. No woman either. There was no lover with enough strength to hang onto the wild ride that was her daily experience for any length of time. Love alone was not strong enough to conquer the perpetual challenge of her.
Every time I saw her, as the years rolled ever more quickly past, she had a new boyfriend on her arm. She grew older, but he never did. She went from being dangerous jailbait as a teenager to the predatory cougar you tried to hide your son from, and yet somehow you barely noticed her aging. The fire inside seemed somehow to keep her forever young. It was in her eyes, always something in her eyes that set the world ablaze everywhere she went.
In my email, in my inbox every single day, there is another letter from someone somewhere in the world who is unhappy and unfulfilled. He doesn't touch you as much as you wish he would. He doesn't want you the way you know he should. You both go without having sex together for ridiculously long periods of time and you wonder, "am I the only one? What is wrong with us?"
Your life isn't what you thought it would be. It isn't exciting or even all that much fun. You think back and realize that it never really has been anything all that great and adventurous. Everyone on television, on the internet, or even in your own neighborhood, just seems to be having a better and more exciting life than you. You think there is something wrong with you. Somehow you just don't have the bright, fulfilling life you were promised. Somehow your light doesn't shine quite as brightly as other people's does. You worry that you have missed out, taken the wrong road, missed a turn somewhere. You see the movie stars on the covers of the magazines and wonder what it must be like to live such an exciting and glamorous life.
You think you are all alone, but you are not. You are like most people. You are normal.
But you are nothing like her.
The last time I saw her, I knew what was going to come. I could see it in those fabulous brown eyes, blended there with the fire and the fun and the ever present excitement, I could see that she was finally tired and ready to lie down. Her eyes didn't shine quite as brightly. There was just a hint of pain instead. That voice saying "let's go get into trouble" now seemed to be falling silent. She just wasn't enjoying it anymore. I knew it despite her ever present grin. I knew it, I could feel it, although I can't quite explain how.
So often I have heard people say, "if only I had known, if only there had been some sort of warning, if only they had reached out to me, I might have somehow stopped them." I knew there was no one who could stop her. There never had been in all her life. And there wasn't going to be now. No one could stop this overwhelming force of magnificent will. I'm simply grateful that I knew her well enough to know what I was seeing, to recognize that this was the last time we would talk and my only chance to say 'goodbye' to an amazing person.
Sometimes I find myself sitting in silence and wondering, why does God make people like this? So many of them end up the same way. Oh sure, some die as if by accident, an overdose of pills or a car accident at 2 a.m. in which they were traveling at incredible speed. These people, throughout their lives, are like some human ball of fire that lights up the otherwise mundane lives of the rest of us and makes us wish for something more. It is as if they were put here to show us mortals that life was meant to be lived and then, when there is no more living to do, to die with as much flash and fire as they lived and be done with it. No regrets. No looking back. No tears.
If we could finally find a cure for this bipolar disorder, this manic depression, these blazing maniacs among us, which is what I believe she probably was although I never saw anything but the manic side in all our lives, would we really want to end it? I mean, for those who suffer and wish to be cured, sure, I can see how we need to find a way to help them. But for those who are like her, who seem to love every minute of it right up until the very end, do we really want to snuff out that flame? How empty life would be without these shining stars. And how empty their lives would be, having flown so high, to suddenly have their amazing wings clipped and fall to earth down here with the rest of us. I wonder, if we could cure this, should we?
A night without stars would be very dark indeed.
Tyrell: "You were made as well as we could make you."
Batty: "But not to last."
Tyrell: "The light that burns twice as bright burns for half as long - and you have burned so very, very brightly, Roy. Look at you, you're the prodigal son; you're quite a prize."
Batty: "I've done... questionable things."
Tyrell: "Also extraodinary things; revel in your time."
from the film "Blade Runner"
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