I didn’t get to see her much the last year. She liked to keep to herself anyway and with cancer and all, even more so. Still, I miss her. L.A.’s hair was very long, blond, and stated. Rock star status stated. She would tie it back with pink bows which tickled me enough that I wrote a song about it once. She knew she had good hair. I hear her laughing about it now.
We got a lot of good laughs in over the years. The years when life was freer, more breathable and less planned. L.A. and I always seem to hold each other up, so to speak. Hold space. We would take very long walks by the beach. Sometimes we would talk a great deal about music, passion and the West Coast – other days were walks in silence. I loved our long walks.
L.A. loved the ocean as much as I and on that we could always count on. She was a drummer at heart. Damn good one too, could have been a great musician but it seemed she was always keeping the beat in someone else’s life. A beat that made people smile and their lives richer.
L.A. wouldn’t take my call for months. One day, in December of 2013, I dialed and waited for the usual automated fake-man voicemail to pick up. She answered. “Hello” in that Southern California sound of voice she had. Maybe she answered because that is how she wanted me to remember.