The Ambush
E has been jonesin’ for a SmartPhone for about a week, and has been doing research as to whether he can justify (to himself—I don’t care; he works for a living, and I know there’s probably another guitar in my future somewhere down the line, so I’m not going to carp) the purchase of the object of his gadget lust. He wondered what our current plan involved, both in cost and minutes, so I told him I’d find the last bill and give him the 411.
It was innocuous enough a task, to start. I found it. When I pay the bill, I don’t usually check out the specific calls unless the bill is higher than normal, but I looked through it to see if I could find a total number of minutes for E’s information. What I found instead was a slew of phone calls to California, which didn’t make any sense to me until I looked at the dates. July 16…July 17…July 18. And then I started crying. I never did remember how many times I tried to get ahold of him that weekend; that weekend and the week thereafter are a blur to me now, as they were at the time. To see them all in black and white, and more calls than I realized I made…well…damn.
God, I wish he’d answered the phone. I wish it more than anything. I had a dream recently where it had all been a mistake, and he was sorry he made me worry. But it was just a dream, and I knew he was dead in the dream, as did he. I was glad to talk to him anyway. I wish he visited in my dreams more often.
I know there will be ambushes; there’ve been many of them. What I don’t know is what seemingly unrelated thing is going to precipitate one. Blue awnings and white toast and asti spumante and seeing 19th Street (specifically) on a San Francisco map have all done it. I tell myself that it merely speaks to how close he and I really were, that so many things make me think of him. But as true as that is, it is a double-edged sword, because it also highlights just how much I’ve lost.
I know that he’s gone. It’s an inescapable fact. I’m not unclear on the concept. And yet, I find myself shaking my head again and again, thinking, "I cannot believe he’s not here."