I was waiting for the bus when I heard him yell my name. He was pulled up at the red light and had rolled the passenger window down. I hadn’t seen him for five years and we’d had some hard words between us, but I walked over and got in the car without a moment’s hesitation.
         He drove me to work. He talked: He was enthusiastic, almost manic. In twenty minutes I learned a lot of new things about his life. He didn’t ask me much about mine—that was okay, not much to report anyway. He had a new wife! Just married a year ago. Some adopted children! This was new for him, a guy who I knew invented new ways to fuck things up for himself every couple of months, at least in my experience. We didn’t go over any of the old sore points. It was great.
         In the driveway circle outside my office building we talked about getting together again soon. For my part, I meant it. I meant to give it another try. I remembered when we were seventeen, when I’d dropped by his place early one morning after spending the night at my girlfriend’s. This sounds like such a little thing, I suppose. I’d forgotten a book or a CD or something at his place. But also, I had lied to my parents about where I was, I’d said I was with him, and as it happened that night my aunt had died and in the morning my folks’d had a hell of a time getting ahold of me. They’d called him, there were many improvised lies: he was good at making shit up on the spot. When he told me this all that news put me in a state. I’m not sure what I said. It was barely past dawn and he was hardly awake. Look at him in his dumb pajamas.
         I walked home. There were words among the family: Where, etc. Disrespect, etc. What would she think—and mom, dad, I loved her too, though. Why are you on me about cutting my hair for the funeral? She never said one fucking word about my hair.
         Ten minutes later the doorbell rang and he was at the front door; he’d quick-dressed and followed me back home. We walked around the neighborhood together, talked about whatever bullshit. He calmed me down. Like I say, it probably seems trivial but I think it was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.
         That time later the other morning, this last time, the day I’m talking about, after he drove away I worked a normal day. I friended him (again) on social media, and left a note on his page. I thought, why not, even though five years earlier, drunk as fuck and kissing him on the mouth I’d shoved him into a cab and said I never wanted to speak to him again. What melodramatic bullshit. For months after that, wherever I was, I was spooked at the thought of him showing up unexpectedly and we’d have to get into it all all over again—but he never did, he kept away, respect.
So later that night after that morning he drove me to work, I got a message from his cousin. He’d seen the note I’d left on his page. He, cousin, was sorry to have to be the one to tell me this, but: he’d had a heart attack two days ago, it was very sudden, everyone’s still in shock, his wife and stepkids desolated. What? What? What.
         I couldn’t believe it. How could I believe it, when there he’d been, in a car, a car I’d never seen before, that day, that very day, with his mouth and voice and his new stories that I hadn’t known anything about: about kids and wife and even some intimate details that even at the time I thought inappropriate but you know, on brand for him. But, cousin confirmed, there was no mistake. He was dead.
         At the funeral and after that I never breathed a word of what I’m saying to you now, why would I? It’s ridiculous, but you asked me when was the last time I saw him alive and if this wasn’t it then I can’t remember when it was.
💀