Dear Cheryl,

Dear Cherry,

I’ve been writing this in my head for a few days. But like, to say what? This sucks and is so fucking stupid. Consensus is this is so fucking stupid. 2025 was already shaping up to be the stupidest year ever. This seals the deal.

Friday I opened Spotify to find a new Jeff Tweedy song. There’s a line in it that caused me to shout “Oh Fuck YOU Jeff Tweedy!” “In the corner of my eye you’re still alive.” Fuck off, Jeff Tweedy. You’d have loved the song though.

Why did we go such long stretches without talking? We talked about being the kind of friends that could do that but why did we do that? I wish I’d reached out more than a month ago to have a phone date. I regret that. I missed you like crazy and thought about you every day. I guess in that sense, nothing has changed. I miss you like crazy and think about you every single day. Except that we’ll never get that phone date and that’s really fucking stupid.

I had a mental list of things I wanted to talk to you about on our phone date. What music you’d been listening to and who you’d seen play lately was on the list. All week, I’ve been making a list of what shows we saw together. So many shows. I’m struggling to remember who that secret early evening show at Schuba’s was sometime around 2003. I remember it being great but cannot for the life of me remember who was playing. You were there and the music was good. That’s what I remember. Ultimately that’s what counts.

Thank you for letting me, an annoying 19 year old glom onto you moments after meeting you, claiming you, a 35 year old, as my friend. I knew I loved you the moment I met you. (Everyone loved you the moment they met you.) I had no idea that our friendship would be one of the most important of my life. You were so important to so many people. I hope you knew.

It’s because of you that I have friends in their twenties and thirties. Intergenerational friendships are really good for us, turns out.

You were the first person to tell me, gently and lovingly, that my honesty was sometimes a bit too brutal, that I could be abrasive, that I am not always easy breezy, lemon squeezy to be around. I was not ready to hear it at the time but you planted those seeds. I’m still abrasive but I’ve softened up considerably in the 31 years we’ve known one another. You also taught me how to confront someone in a way that didn’t do damage and could actually help. Thank you. (For so much.)

I also wanted to talk to you about books and what you’d been reading. You were one of the most prolific and least snobbish readers I have ever met. You loved books. I know there were authors that you actively hated but I can’t name them. You never really yucked anyone’s yum in a way that made a dent. Given the number of weird and lovable snobs we worked with, that was impressive. K also reminded me that you were a devout Goodreads user — if I still want to know what you’d been reading lately.

I tell everyone about The Fall. I remember calling you absolutely screaming after you first sent me the trailer. I tell everyone about that and you when I’m explaining why they should see my favorite movie.

I told Shannon about the time I dyed your hair in the Borders cafe back room.

Shannon told E that you were “bookstore mom.”

I talked with K about splork and chuffly and your skills as a master neologist.

I talk about you to absolutely everyone who will listen. It’s hard being far from people who loved you like I did. I’m lucky my family here is happy to listen. Emma said everyone is telling her sweet stories. They are endless.

I told the man I’m dating about Big Star cafe and our notebook there with the haikus and our reports to one another. I told him about seeing Jeff Buckley. I told him how much I owe to you. You made my life better. You helped me become me.

I wanted to tell you about this man. I think you’d really like him. I think I’m going to love him. I really wanted to tell you.

I wish we could’ve talked for hours that day. I would’ve told you I loved you just one more time. You were gone. In the corner of my eye you’re still alive.

Love,

Shana