OTF 10: 01/27/2003
As I jetted off on my Firenze journey a myriad of people, places, and fast food restaurants tugged at the strings of my heart. Amidst the In N Out double doubles with raw onions was one girl who tugged the hardest. Having to part with my beloved Fayelynn Helderson—my good sis, my star, my muse, my inspiration and my never depleting wellspring of love and support was and is a part of my experience abroad that never fails to crumble my heart. Today this heart is extra crumbled as it is her 21st birthday and I am not able to envelop her in a hug of love. Yet, I hope this will come close. Faye, in this blog, and really in everything I do, I hope to imbue the love and the impact you have left on the boy that sits in a quaint cafe an ocean away writing for you.
Faye and I met, as if guided by a north star, the first week of Freshman year. While she gives a different recount, my memory recalls discovering her while Alex, our third family member, and I roamed the streets of Berkeley in search of a hangover cure. In the middle of telegraph Faye comes up to us, recognizing us as patrons of her dorm, and we are hit with a vibrant array—her presence saturated with noise and movement. This in fact is one of the things I have come to love most about Faye: she is a SENSORIAL experience; she never fails to leave her mark and often leaves people, as she had left me that day, yearning for more. From what I can recall, our interaction that morning consisted of Faye enthusiastically telling us that her dad was a DILF and possibly some arm flailing as well. Despite the drowsiness I immediately liked her. I found the juxtaposed dynamic of her all-American je ne sais quoi and her loud, unabashed and mighty presence to be very alluring and incredibly charming. Now, it is difficult to think of Faye outside of the depth with which I have come to know her, in the same way I know my favorite Angel View or the clothes of my closet: an understanding smothered in profound natural intimacy, however, I am able to recall another scene: Faye and I meet again on Sproul, perhaps this is a week into Freshman year, and in the midst of what I remember being a very fun and passionate conversation, Faye tells me, ““see you and me I stay thinking we catch a vibe but then I find out you’re like that with EVERY OTHER BITCH!'” ….. Certainly she had gagged me a bit. At this moment the commitment to becoming her friend was set aflame. First, as someone who knows the art of gagging very intimately, it is rare for me to find something someone says or does to be shocking. Yet, she had done it—and in our second meeting?? Also her clock did hold some truth; I had caught “vibes” with hella people. However, being gay—especially within the first week of college—it often felt like girls were just excited that I was gay and sporting a sparkly bebe belt, and therefore, were loving this caricature of me, and were not being real. Faye was different. She kept it real FROM THE JUMP, and continues to this day to always tell me her most honest opinion, even if she knows it is not what I want to hear. At that moment it was shocking to be called out and to be told someone’s honest opinion and I was hooked. I love anyone who is not afraid to ruffle some feathers and say what they really think, and Faye does this better than anyone I know. This leads me perfectly to another point, on a long long list of things I love about Faye: she can’t help but live every second of every day as her most true and honest self, even if this means completing an entire card deck and failing to think of her econ midterm she has at 8AM the next morning. This is also true of emotions. Faye is genuinely sad, angry, happy, hysterical, or perhaps all of these at the same time, but always, she is herself. This makes her so easy to love, to know, and to show yourself to.
Throughout Freshman year Faye and I grew very close. I cannot recall one catalytic moment where suddenly we were best friends, but I do remember that every moment I spent with her was one I had no problem enjoying. It took no effort to catch her vibe, and still her vibe seems to always land right in my mit, no matter the curve or speed at which it is thrown. One potent early memory in our friendship takes place, aptly enough, in the Unit Three lounge. I had come in to finish Colleen Hoover’s It Ends With Us and sitting like an angel there she was. She was hitting blinkers on her NYC cart pen. No, I’m kidding….but that is something you would be doing. I approached and asked if I could sit. Naturally, we began to talk of Colleen, someone she had read as well. We laughed and the conversation ended with her telling me that I needed to get into therapy. Looking back, I realize that even in this moment, before coming to love her as I do now I had felt profoundly comfortable with her. From the very start it was as if we had always known and understood each other—a feeling words, experiences and memories cannot create. As the weeks progressed so did our friendship. She asked me thoughtful questions about myself, genuinely wanting to know me and continued to push me into therapy as I, with the same commitment to understanding her, came to learn of all her nooks and crannies, and trust me, Faye is full of twists and turns: basements and wonderfully lit attics—all places I wanted and want to see. This brings me to another thing I love about Faye: she is not one thing, one image, one belief, but rather, a tapestry of creativity and dimension, a kaleidoscope of awesomeness. She never fails to surprise me with her introspective nature, her understanding of the world, her wit, her creations (we will get to the artistry soon) or the sage advice she will give while making decisions that leave us all gagged. Certainly, she keeps me on my toes with all those nooks and crannies, some with monsters and some with beautiful flowers I couldn’t find anywhere else in the world. Faye, it has been one of the biggest joys of my life to be let into all that is you; an exploration I will continue forever.
Sophomore year Faye, Alex and I moved into a quaint apartment and fortified our familial kinship. Faye made our living room her own and it was the most wonderful thing to share a home with the two people I cared for most. Each night, as Alex was being the smartest boy in Berkeley, Faye and I would post up and talk about our days. Perhaps we would film a tiktok, do improv, Kardashian roleplay and then without fail we would lie in her bed together, our friendship covering us like a hand knit blanket as we binged Glee, then Girls Incarcerated, and then Bojack Horseman. Faye and Alex became my home. Each day I looked at my time with Faye as light at the end of a tunnel, a constant reminder that all would be right in the world once 10pm (sometimes 8pm) rolled around and we could begin our rendition of “Khloe comes home to find Tristan cheating with Kylie…. And it's their anniversary!!” I read on tiktok once that the key to a friendship is good conversation, and without a doubt, there is no one I converse more enthusiastically with than Faye. Talking with Faye is incredibly healing and even when we have nothing to talk about (which is hardly ever) she and I will continue to ramble—equally committed to sharing our lives and brains with each other.
Around second semester both Faye and I found ourselves, for separate reasons, in holes of depression. Like true friends, we were each other's refuge, a warm cave in what felt like the most frigid winter. Like a gift from the universe, Faye began to make art. To me, Faye had always been an artist. As I’ve repeatedly said, her words and energy alone painted my life the most vibrant it had ever been, but at this point her expressive nature began to manifest itself in creation. Prior to this, Faye would show me little doodles she had done to occupy dull hours as a hostess and I would smile widely and tell her “no really there is something there!” I will always love these super early works, her Tim Burton characters with wide eyes and sharp jaws—works of an artist who had yet to discover her passion. In fact, if I stroll through my story archive I am bound to find the first doodle she had done of the two of us, posted proudly on my story. Art began to give and be her life and rather quickly it became her passion. Faye would spend hours drawing, painting, sketching, and doodling, constantly asking her friends to “sit just like that for fifteen minutes” as she worked away, creating pieces that to this day leave me struck. Each night turned into exhibitions as we flipped through her sketchbooks and I, with pure genuinity, oohed and ahhed at the art reflective of the artist we were watching grow before our eyes—born of sadness and backdropped by liberation. There is no doubt that Faye is the artist of my life. The pieces she has done for me I will cherish forever, and cherish more than anything. As I sit in my room in Italy I flip through the scrapbook she made for my 20th birthday and feel her in my heart. These visual manifestations of care tether me to the love she fills my life with. I will show these works to my kids as portraits she has done for them line the walls. Now this brings me to another thing I love about Faye: she is full of passion. I have never seen commitment comparable to Faye’s commitment to art. Faye seeks out what she wants and creates her happiness. Faye is not afraid to fail or to show the world she is trying. Naturally, Faye encouraged me to mine my interests, telling me maybe I too could find a diamond.
Faye, I must give you credit. Without you, On The Fringe, and my universe, would not be what it is today. You were there to add wood to the fire, even when all of this was an idea locked in a conceptual box. You have always encouraged me to embrace the things I am interested in, telling me I was and could be more. Everyday I am inspired by how you lead your life. I consider you the ultimate creative, and it is the most confidence enducing compliment to know, with every being of my being, that you believe in me too. Faye was the first person I showed my first blog to, and since that day she continues to tell her family and the world that I will be in Vogue, or on the front of a magazine, or writing a magazine. Nothing is too big with Faye by my side.
Faye, you are the Patti to my Robert the Robert to my Patti, but way more importantly, you are the Faye to my Trey. Just as you continue to draw the curve of my jaw or the curls of my hair know that all my journals I have written and will write paint a picture of the most beautiful friend I know. I believe that we will exist together forever, our hearts an overflowing museum and library of love. Happy 21st!!!!
