Natalie

What do a triumphant band of Lesbian Separatists living on Belle Isle, a randy crew of S/M practitioners somewhere to the southeast of Lake Superior and a hopeful group of youngish anarchists have in common? They took over the UP in a story my friend Natalie and I wrote “across the pond” the year she spent in York, England.

It was our junior year of college. We were both English majors, both aspiring writers, and we wanted to stay in touch during her junior year abroad. We’d gone to high school together, shared a deep and abiding affection for our English teacher Judith, and I admired her. She was just that bit smarter than me, just that bit more creative, just that bit more ambitious. She got into the University of Michigan, I got into Michigan State.

So, in 1992-93 we wrote a story together about a conglomerate of folks who just don’t fit in who came together to take over the U.P. of Michigan. We skipped over the armed combat portion of secession and started at the fun part: the U.P. was ours to divide up among the factions and begin visiting in our imaginations. I’d never actually been to the U.P. and now that I have I somewhat disagree with Natalie’s assertion that there weren’t enough folks already living there to really object to an invasion. But it was all in good fun and we had a marvelous time.

I wrote from the basement of the MSU Union computer lab and printed off the chapters as they finished up on the dot matrix printers. As usual, I was a bit dazzled by Natalie’s creativity; she did the heavy lifting of the storyline.

As that junior year wound down I was planning my own trip to England – a study abroad program to research 17th century Welsh poet Katherine Philips. It turned out our time in the UK was going to overlap. We’d see each other in passing. I don’t remember that afternoon clearly but Natalie wasn’t doing well. If I had to hazard a guess from an adult’s perspective I’d say she was anxiously anticipating the impending re-entry shock of coming home. Our few hours together were confusing. She talked about bailing out on her remaining days in the country and catching an early flight. We may have quarreled. It wasn’t pleasant. We parted and that was the last time I saw her.

We both returned to the US and finished our respective degrees on schedule (her, magna cum laude from the Honors College, me merely with honors). My senior year was a nightmare and I wasn’t in contact with very many people. I kept that story, though, and after I graduated I wrote Natalie at her parents address. I didn’t hear back. And I let it go. I had a nice cohort from college to keep me company in my 20s and 30s and I wasn’t hurting for companionship.

Then the other day I got to thinking about valuable people I’d let slip away and Natalie came to mind. I got to thinking that other than via Facebook, I wasn’t personal “friends” with anyone from my high school. My brother Alex has a veritable crew of compatriots from Community High School to do anything from cook a gourmet meal with to help paint his house and I’ve always been envious of that. We went to a really awesome high school with really awesome people. Surely, even if our parting in London had been the result of some wretchedness on my part that I couldn’t even remember we could start over with a Facebook “friendship?”

I went onto Google for people and in a few moments found out that Natalie was now published. That made me smile. I saw that our high school companion Colin already “liked” her book and I got the warm fuzzies thinking about the days when he and she were the resident King and Queen of Judith’s creative writing class. But still I couldn’t find a personal account for Natalie. THAT, I thought, was just like her. She was just quirky enough to shun Facebook.

I sent her book page a quick message saying I’d like to get back in touch and began following the links on the page. I got shifted over to a Google site and learned that Natalie had moved to Portland. Sigh, I wouldn’t get to see her anytime soon. My half-formed ideas about meeting in Ann Arbor for dinner slipped away. I learned she became a midwife. I was very surprised but then again not surprised – she was smart enough to turn her mind to anything she wanted to learn. I remembered her as a young person without a lot of self-confidence but with a tremendous intellect. Her courage must have caught up with her brain, I thought.

Then I learned, in the space of a few brief words, that Natalie died in 2008 of a cardiac infection after a routine bout of influenza.

I was stopped dead. A few moments passed and Facebook pinged back at me. Her mom was responding to the message I’d sent to the book page. The book was published posthumously by her parents. We exchanged a few messages about Natalie and I expressed my sorrow, although I hadn’t had but a moment to think on it. I remembered only good things.

Natalie, if I’m the one that ruined things back on that afternoon in London, I’m sorry. I wish I could take you to lunch at Zingerman’s and explain how I let our friendship slip through my fingers when we both got back stateside due to blossoming mental health issues. I wish we’d kept up. I admired you and I thought you were wicked and clever and marvelous and I miss you. I’m glad you found a profession you enjoyed and I’m so glad you are published. I can proudly say I am the owner of your work – and that I had to pay for it. That was a privilege after the many manuscripts you shared just for the feedback.

I feel like the last one to know. How can you have been gone for so long and I just found out? I’ll miss you for so much longer than I knew you.