Tough.
That's what I remember most vividly about Anne. She was tough.
She had this confidence, and of course the hair, and she was really, sincerely gorgeous. And those jeans — remember those jeans? Only Anne could get away with wearing those jeans. Partly because she was gorgeous, yes, but also because she was so tough. They were the sort of jeans you might expect to see on a fashion model, if the fashion model were getting ready to leap off of a moving motorcycle and karate-kick you in the face. She brought her pet snake to parties, for chrissakes! She walked into raging keggers with this huge, terrifying snake draped over her shoulders, this six-foot freaking python, and if you had the balls to stand next to her she'd let you pet it. Maybe even let you wear it, if you were totally fearless or insane. That snake turned on her one day, later on; Anne had to drown it in the tub while it attempted to digest her arm. That's how tough she was. That snake scared the living shit out of me.
But most of you visiting this site probably know all that already.
I didn't know Anne as well as I would have liked. I can say that about a depressingly large number of my college friends, it seems, and for each one of those friends I regret it. But with Anne, now, that regret is not only deep but permanent, and irreparable.
I have no excuse. I was at most of those raging keggers, after all. Usually hanging back, usually wishing I was just a little bit more drunk, usually feeling just a little bit intimidated by the girls, so beautiful and bold as they danced to their showtunes.
Intimidated? By Anne? She was such an extraordinarily kind person. She would never really karate-kick anyone in the face. So — foolish, yes. But there it was. And when she began to withdraw, it was easier for me than it was for others, probably, to let her go.
Reading about and hearing from the friends who were able to visit Anne in her final days, I'm jealous and relieved, and also quietly guilty. If I'd had the opportunity to say good-bye, could I have done so? Would I have known what to say? The idea frightens me even more than her snake did. I've never been particularly tough.
So this website is by way of expiating that guilt, a little bit. It's my gift to Anne and to everyone who knew her. Fill it with stories, please, because I wish I had more of my own to tell. I wish I had a second chance to go back and try holding that snake.
I wish Anne was still with us.
Tough.
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