When I was traveling in Greece several years ago, I met Angela, one of the coolest people I've ever known.
She was beautiful--but not in the least vain or even aware of her appearance. She was a talented dancer and artist. I showed her some of my writing, and she was encouraging, upbeat, positive. She totally got what I was trying to do with the novel I was writing. No one else got it, but she did.
She was intelligent and fun and utterly impractical. For example, I had the efficiency of streamlined, lightweight backpacking down to science, while she was carrying around a thick, heavy, hardback copy of the I Ching, plus a bulky sketchbook and watercolors, brushes, a Rapidograph pen, and a large glass bottle of India ink.
We danced on the sands at Crete and later explored the Minoan ruins. She had an Australian boyfriend with her named David, and he really seemed to be an equal partner--at a time when guys were a lot bossier and more demanding than they are now. Sometimes he was around, and sometimes he went off and did his own thing. I thought they had a great relationship.
It seems like I knew her for months, but it was really only about two weeks.
After those two weeks together on the beach and in Iraklion, I had to get back to Paris, and she and David found jobs and had to spend all day working.
So we went our separate ways. I had her home address, but for some reason didn't keep in touch.
Even though I didn't know her for very long, she had a tremendous influence on my life. I wanted so much to be like her. Back in the U.S., I bought an Indian dress like one she wore, I bought a Rapidograph pen, I began throwing the I Ching, and when I went back to Europe a few years later, I took a sketchbook with me.
Years later, when I was living in Bel Air, California, I saw some handbags in a boutique in Brentwood with her name on them. They could have been from someone else with the same name, but I instantly recognized her style.
I looked her up on the Internet and found she was living in the SF bay area and had her own line of purses. I wanted to call her, but didn't know what to say. I was a little afraid she wouldn't remember me. I called and got an answering machine. I can't remember if I even left a message.
Then two years ago, I saw someone on a TV show who reminded me of Angela. I went back to her website, but it wasn't functioning.
I did a Google search.
She'd died a few months earlier, I learned.
I managed to track down and phone her aunt, whom I remembered hearing about from Angela. She was Angela's age and was like a sister to her. The aunt's voice reminded me so much of Angela's. Hearing that voice was pleasant, like eating candy. I cried as I spoke to the aunt about this person I hadn't seen or talked to in many years, and whom I'd known for only two weeks.
I wrote her parents a note telling them about how Angela had made a huge impression on my life.
I learned that she and David had married, and had had a son. I corresponded with David for a few months, but lost touch when he and their son moved to Australia last year.
Angela, you died too young, and I wish I'd known you better.
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