Letter to a Friend
Today, I cried for you.
They were tears for Bean and Nicholas.
And selfish tears.
It’s not true what they say. Time does not heal everything. It just dulls the pain enough to make it bearable.
I am sending a book to Bean. I know you’ll approve. It’s the photographs by Eduardo Masferre. The one I bought after our trip to Banaue. The trip where you forgot your bathing suit and had to wear your black bra and underwear instead so we could go to the pool together. You hoped no one would notice. No one did save for that blasted rooster who hung around the pool. He took quite a shine to you. Remember that? That picture still makes me laugh. Your memory is still so strong and vivid and painful and joyous. I have done my best to preserve what I have, tangible or otherwise. I have saved every scrap of paper that has your writing on it, every e-mail, any shred of a memory that I can glean from my brain and from my heart, I covet. Traffic makes me think of your Keith Richards skull ring; the one you wore on your middle finger for flipping the bird to crazy drivers in Manila. Dirty fingernails make me think of your garden. The soulful lyrics of a Sarah McLachlan song can bring me to my knees. Frozen Toblerone transports me back to your kitchen in that bungalow you loved so well. Dave Matthews floods me with memories of being lost in Seoul.
I’m sure we fought over who would get that book. There was only one left.
I’m sure you let me.
My life is not the same without you. My life will forever be changed for having had you.