The real story begins when I realize that there is more than one Devon.
Devon A is strikingly beautiful and knows it. She lights a cigarette and lightly swishes the air in her area, creating a swirl of smoke around her.
Devon B does not smoke. Rather, she hides the fact that she is constantly doing cocaine. We all wish she would not, especially her son, but she keeps right on after it. White dust on bathroom counters and odd make-up clip-down bags in her purse. An odd thing to be so well hidden, and yet, so visible. Her son knows it, but does not know what to say or do.
Devon A is a girl I have known for 20 years. We met in college and then, of course, Devon A went off and got married as they all do.
Devon B and coke, however, turned into a different affair altogether. We became entwined with utmost vigor when she left her husband – the father of her son. And so our tryst was heated electricity and sparks galore. But, Devon B decided she should return to the father of her son.
Devon A did not approve of the entire arrangement. In the end, none of us did.
It was with a postcard that I was alerted to the end of everything, and while I was filled with anger, relief is my only reaction to the end of both girls named Devon.
I have not seen either Devon since the postcard.