Wait for It

by Mariana Zapata

What I couldn’t live with was not standing up for someone who was so much more than his looks and his skin color and his fucking haircut. Someone who was worth so much more than two hundred dollars a month.

“You know I’m crazy.” “You’re my best friend. I know you’re crazy.” Why that felt like the best compliment I’d ever been given, I had no idea.

Because no one else was as kind or selfless, as giving or as patient, as loving in all the little and the big ways, as he was.

All I could think about as I stood there was that sometimes life gave you a tragedy that burned everything you knew to the ground and changed you completely. But somehow, if you really wanted to, you could learn how to hold your breath as you made your way through the smoke left in its wake, and you could keep going. And sometimes, sometimes, you could grow something beautiful from the ashes that were left behind. If you were lucky. And I was a really, really lucky bitch.