My head hurts. Bad. Not fun...it's the kinda hurt where you wanna cry but you know that will make it hurt worse. It's a miserable feeling. Oh well. It could be worse. I could have just found out what douche bags serve as jurors and how they just gave in and are now responsible for the fate of my existance.
My friend Martin Heidgen- whom no one calls Martin except people who don't know him- was just convicted of murder. Wow. That's the first time I let that sink in. Murder. It's such an easy word to say but yet when you put it in association with someone whom you love and care about, it takes on a different meaning.
I met Marty totally by accident. We worked for the same company but in different departments. He was doing random training with different people all of the departments so when some crazy called into customer service and needed a translator, Marty would know the basic principles of insurance claims and reposession. I had not been with the company for very long when I was asked to show him what I do. I see him and he's cute and I smile and become thankful that I have a boyfriend because if I didn't, I would have to flirt a little because dang, I want to hang out with this guy. I show him what we do and some how we begin to talk. He borrows my coconut lotion. Odd, I think, seeing is how he's a guy and this flavor resembles that of a crispy chick fresh out of the tanning salon. Whatever. We chat for a good hour or so and I decide that this kid is pretty cool. He writes down his extention for me and suggests that we do lunch or break sometime. Throughout the next few days I found notes on my desk from him just saying hi. We begin to take breaks together. He'd call me or I'd call him and we'd go downstairs and chat. Not about anything of mucho importance but it was cool. He always ate a banana, or a breakfast burrito with salsa. He never kept his debit card receipts and that bugged me. We did have lunch once a week or so until he moved to NY. He liked the chicken pasta stuff. I was scared of the café food but that entree was actually tasty. Marty always saved me a bite. A few times, more than he'd probably care for me mentioning, he came to my house for a little manscaping. I decided that his eyebrows were crazy out of control and if he would just give me a moment or two, I would have him looking like a million bucks. After weeks of coaxing, he finally agreed. He followed me home one day after work, laid in my lap and let me pluck hair by hair out of his black eyebrows. I'm a little compulsive. I like makeovers and making people feel fresh and pretty. It's a curse I know but it's who I am. I talked Marty into letting me give him a mud mask. We wrapped a towel around his blue Polo shirt and used a headband to hold back his bushy hair and I applied the green goo to his face. He looked ridiculously funny laying in my lap and when a knock appeared at the door, he begged me not to answer it. Knowing that it was probably just my neighbor, I opened the door. He was mortified when she chuckled and managed to get out a 'hi'. We continued our little routine every week or so and I think I enjoyed it as much as Marty did. After his move, we talked every few weeks or so. He was happy, loved his job, making new friends. I was at the lake when I received the phone call from a mutual friend about the accident. I could not breathe. I wanted Marty to be okay and more importantly, I wanted the families of the little girl and of the limo driver to be okay and to not hate my friend. I was mad at Marty. He knew better. He knew not to drink and drive. He knew it was still a new city to him and that he didn't know his way around. He was smarter than that. I couldn't even cry. I sat there just praying and begging God to be with my friend and to comfort the families. And then I was calm. I knew that Marty was doing the exact same thing. I knew he was praying and begging God to forgive him and to comfort the families. I knew he felt horrible and that he felt like an idiot and that he didn't deserve to go on while knowing all the while that two others would not have that chance. That's just who he is.
Writing and receiving letters this whole time has been bittersweet. At first I didn't want to talk too much about what was going on in my life because I didn't want him to miss life or to make him feel bad. Then, my first letter was kinda like a mom scolding a child. He told me to not be sad and to expect nothing more than the same Marty that I've always known. That was kinda unexpected. Letters came about twice a month. Each one was as if we were having normal phone conversations. I cried over everyone thinking of how horrible he must feel but more so about the people that he hurt. I've read some nasty, hating articles and blogs but have held true to my knowledge of who Marty really is. But there has also been some good stuff. The day the jury's decision was read, the fate of my friend, he had just heard the most horrible news and what did he do? He turned, winked and flashed a smile to his mom. That's the real Marty. He's a good man. He made a mistake and I know the he is punishing himself each and every day, more so than anyone else could.
My friend Martin Heidgen- whom no one calls Martin except people who don't know him- was just convicted of murder. Wow. That's the first time I let that sink in. Murder. It's such an easy word to say but yet when you put it in association with someone whom you love and care about, it takes on a different meaning.
I met Marty totally by accident. We worked for the same company but in different departments. He was doing random training with different people all of the departments so when some crazy called into customer service and needed a translator, Marty would know the basic principles of insurance claims and reposession. I had not been with the company for very long when I was asked to show him what I do. I see him and he's cute and I smile and become thankful that I have a boyfriend because if I didn't, I would have to flirt a little because dang, I want to hang out with this guy. I show him what we do and some how we begin to talk. He borrows my coconut lotion. Odd, I think, seeing is how he's a guy and this flavor resembles that of a crispy chick fresh out of the tanning salon. Whatever. We chat for a good hour or so and I decide that this kid is pretty cool. He writes down his extention for me and suggests that we do lunch or break sometime. Throughout the next few days I found notes on my desk from him just saying hi. We begin to take breaks together. He'd call me or I'd call him and we'd go downstairs and chat. Not about anything of mucho importance but it was cool. He always ate a banana, or a breakfast burrito with salsa. He never kept his debit card receipts and that bugged me. We did have lunch once a week or so until he moved to NY. He liked the chicken pasta stuff. I was scared of the café food but that entree was actually tasty. Marty always saved me a bite. A few times, more than he'd probably care for me mentioning, he came to my house for a little manscaping. I decided that his eyebrows were crazy out of control and if he would just give me a moment or two, I would have him looking like a million bucks. After weeks of coaxing, he finally agreed. He followed me home one day after work, laid in my lap and let me pluck hair by hair out of his black eyebrows. I'm a little compulsive. I like makeovers and making people feel fresh and pretty. It's a curse I know but it's who I am. I talked Marty into letting me give him a mud mask. We wrapped a towel around his blue Polo shirt and used a headband to hold back his bushy hair and I applied the green goo to his face. He looked ridiculously funny laying in my lap and when a knock appeared at the door, he begged me not to answer it. Knowing that it was probably just my neighbor, I opened the door. He was mortified when she chuckled and managed to get out a 'hi'. We continued our little routine every week or so and I think I enjoyed it as much as Marty did. After his move, we talked every few weeks or so. He was happy, loved his job, making new friends. I was at the lake when I received the phone call from a mutual friend about the accident. I could not breathe. I wanted Marty to be okay and more importantly, I wanted the families of the little girl and of the limo driver to be okay and to not hate my friend. I was mad at Marty. He knew better. He knew not to drink and drive. He knew it was still a new city to him and that he didn't know his way around. He was smarter than that. I couldn't even cry. I sat there just praying and begging God to be with my friend and to comfort the families. And then I was calm. I knew that Marty was doing the exact same thing. I knew he was praying and begging God to forgive him and to comfort the families. I knew he felt horrible and that he felt like an idiot and that he didn't deserve to go on while knowing all the while that two others would not have that chance. That's just who he is.
Writing and receiving letters this whole time has been bittersweet. At first I didn't want to talk too much about what was going on in my life because I didn't want him to miss life or to make him feel bad. Then, my first letter was kinda like a mom scolding a child. He told me to not be sad and to expect nothing more than the same Marty that I've always known. That was kinda unexpected. Letters came about twice a month. Each one was as if we were having normal phone conversations. I cried over everyone thinking of how horrible he must feel but more so about the people that he hurt. I've read some nasty, hating articles and blogs but have held true to my knowledge of who Marty really is. But there has also been some good stuff. The day the jury's decision was read, the fate of my friend, he had just heard the most horrible news and what did he do? He turned, winked and flashed a smile to his mom. That's the real Marty. He's a good man. He made a mistake and I know the he is punishing himself each and every day, more so than anyone else could.
posted by Amanda at 8:04 PM
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