Open Letter To Maddy

I’m lucky that I got the chance the talk to you the night before the morning the tragedy happened. Even though our phone conversations typically spiraled well past the hour mark, you called and we spoke for about 10 minutes. You were in an extremely good mood because my original plan to visit you and Robbie in August, the Warriors’ championship win, and all the upcoming events you had planned with David. The last thing we talked about is how we needed to start working on our long talked about ideas for our Portlandia-esque comedy series. You told me that you had some jokes we could work from. I told you that I have a lot of jokes, and a few of them are actually funny. That was the last time I got to hear you laugh. Had I known that would be our last conversation, I would have spent hours upon hours talking about how enormous of an impact you’ve had on my life.

I’ll never forget when you decided to name our eclectic friend group (You, Robbie, Nakul and I) as “Team Kellan.” I never told you this, but without you, Robbie, and Nakul, I don’t know what I would’ve done when my father passed away during my Senior year. I’ll never forget all of our frequent trips to Rubio’s and our late night hang out sessions.

Since you’ve been my best friend for over a decade, I have no doubt in my mind that you wouldn’t want me to use any sort of euphemisms here. On that note, when I first met you, I thought you were a bitch. I remember on the first day of school Freshman year in Honor’s English when I told you that I liked your Bob Marley shirt. You didn’t respond, so I repeated myself louder this time. Still nothing. Years later what I mistakenly thought of “bitch” behavior was a unique personality trait that I had never really come across before. You always spoke your mind in extremely frank fashion, never minced words, never pretended to like people or things no matter the consequence. You said what you meant at all times without sugarcoating anything. You had a wry, blunt sense of humor about the world. Case in point, from a text you sent me just last week:

“Curry is guna have a career crisis in a few years. He’s guna get really famous and have the worst name for his shoe line. Currys??”

There are a ton of memories to choose from, but a few that stick out. One of my favorites is the night we went to Senior Prom together and I dressed like an Old-School mobster and you joked the whole time about how ridiculous the Prom decor was. Or the time we all traveled back to San Diego when you got “fake” married and Robbie freestyled the inauguration. Or the time Robbie, Nakul and I visited your house in Poway and “accidentally” ate all of your moms’ vegan cookies. How every time you had a new boyfriend I called him “Pablo” until you met David. I’m extremely glad that the two of you crossed paths, because in all the years that I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you happier than when you guys started dating. From talking with him, I know he feels the same.

You always had great advice, albeit painfully true at times, from relationships to what “gluten” is and why I shouldn’t eat it to WHY I NEED TO ABANDON EVERYTHING I HOLD SACRED IN LIFE AND START WATCHING BROAD CITY NOW. You were also always there to give me a firm kick in the nuts when I needed it. I remember early last year when you were suffering from what you called an “existential crisis.” Robbie got married, we all had “adult” jobs, and the days of us acting like foolish teenagers seemed like it was gone forever. I’m glad I helped you in part to get over this during hours long phone conversations where I told you that yes, we’re all getting older, but we’re all still the same at heart. Of course there was probably no better example when I visited last summer right before you went to Italy with David. Long story short, after you picked me up from the BART station and took me to your new apartment, I accidentally locked myself out while you went to run an errand and took a nap on your patio floor. I imagine the image of me sleeping passed out was the best evidence I could give you that some things never change.

I don’t think two weeks has passed in the decade since I’ve known you where we we didn’t talk on the phone at some point, and for that I’m grateful. Even though I was concerned when you got injured in your motorcycle accident, looking back it may have been a blessing in disguise in my case, allowing us to talk almost daily via Facetime. Aside from our endless debate about Katy Perry and Lady Gaga, we pretty much agreed about everything. Even though you adored Gaga, unlike her you didn’t live for the applause, but in light of all your accomplishments, it came inevitably.

Many people that live well into their 80’s can’t claim to have lived life as fully as you managed to do in only 26 years. You were always a step ahead, and I commonly told you that I was jealous of you (especially when you bought a motorcycle). I’m still in a state of shock about the whole thing, but I know that you wouldn’t the many of us affected to be mired in grief. Ironically, you’d probably make light of this somehow with that shining, unique wit that you had. It’s been a bittersweet feeling reading the odes on your Facebook page, coming to grips with the loss but also seeing just how many people you impacted, influenced, and inspired. I never had a sister, but you were without a doubt the next closest thing.

Thank you Ms. Madeleine Moore, and may you rest in peace.


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