kimmy

I think I should tell you about my friend, Kimmy. Though before I do, let me preface it with this: there's one thing I feel pride about, one thing I like to brag about. I always, always meet the best people. Wherever I go, it seems to me that I find the cream of the crop -- the brightest, the funniest, the nicest people there are to know. By the grace of God and all the angels, I find them. Or maybe they find me. Or we find each other. Whatever the case, I'm the one who comes out the winner. Every time. For sure.

Having said that, let me say that Kimmy is not by any stretch of the imagination, the least of these. The first time I met Kimmy, at an audition for an improv troupe, we clicked. The second time, after the first meeting for said troupe, she grabbed me in the tightest, most bone-crushing hug I've ever had in my life and said in my ear, "I know you don't like this, but you're going to have to get used to it, because this is how I feel about my friends." And she's never let go.

She was right. I didn't like it. Inhibited and closed off and self-conscious and insecure about a universe of things, at 23-years-of-age, I didn't like people touching me, let alone holding on to me as if I were the sole post standing in a hurricane. But no, that's backwards. It was as if the sole post in the hurricane had sprouted arms and snatched me from the mouth of the storm itself to hold me safe and keep me on my feet. And did I mention, she's never let go?

Kimmy is, in one word, amazing. You should know her. Frankly, I'm sorry for you that you don't. I've actually introduced Kimmy as a friend to people who were, at the very best, indifferent to me on my own merit, but by the virtue of her friendship with me, I've fallen into favor. She's got that aura, you know? It's a warmth that's transcendent of all our baser, meaner tendencies. She is sunlight and laughter and joy in a body that dances like Janet Jackson and sings like Aretha Franklin. She brings out the best in people, people from whom you'd never even expect to see an ounce of good, let alone a pound of best. But she does it. Meanwhile, I can only stand aside and shake my head in wonder.

And, God, is this girl funny. Her stories could wring a chuckle from a corpse. Believe me. I've seen it.

But then again, I don't feel so sorry for you, because it's just a matter of time before you do know her. She's not the sort who was put on this earth for only a blessed few. No, she's got too much light. We'd all crisp from the glow if we were the sole recipients of her Kimmy-ness. And one day in not the too far future you will see her on stage or on the screen or read the words she so perfectly composes and you will laugh until you cry, you will revel in how right she is, in how precisely she gets you and your condition on this earth.

My friend Kimmy (I take more pride in that statement than you can imagine) is my hero on so many levels. She's got presence and chutzpah and faith and integrity to fill the Grand Canyon. I ache with the knowledge of her greatness and can't help but smile like a fool when I think of the heights she will one day -- very soon -- achieve.

So do me a favor. If you're reading this, picture the most kick ass girl in the world and send her all the love and good energy and if you believe in them, prayers, you can send her. I promise you; it's a moment well-spent, an investment in your own joy. So please, send those good vibes and then content yourself with only the briefest of waits. Because she's coming. In force. And once there, if I know her at all, she'll never let any of us go.