Janek

Written on the one year anniversary of the death of a dear friend. He was 23.

One year. Of course things happened. It was the year my life changed forever. Pregnancy, birth, loss death. Yes this year there were stories to be told. Life went on, but not yours. How could I continue to tell silly stories or write half formed rants about random topics? Nothing could make me pick up my pen again but to salute you and mark the passing of this our year of sorrow.

This day one year ago you were still with us and I didn’t call you or even wonder how you were. Our paths crossed and separated so many times, that was how we worked and when we were together you couldn’t tell if we’d seen each other yesterday or if it had been months. This day one year ago I was safe in the knowledge that I would see you again soon.

The next day one year ago you were gone. I sat alone on a step in La Chaussée watching people hear the news that I had heard. Watching the news settle into their bodies like a droplet flows down the river to the waterfall. Faces slowly turning to mine, recognizing my rigid soaking cheeks.

We stayed together that night, talking about you, rooting out photos and music and memories. If we could find enough evidence of your existence you wouldn’t be gone. All of the too precious seconds we spent together now are dear to me.

To your life my beautiful angel, here is my memory.

It is dark, and smoky. People dance and shout in each other’s ears, smile and kiss each other hello. It is December 31st 2005 in Bel Air and I feel extraordinarily sober and very alone. In a doorway you appear through the fug, look straight at me and say “do you smoke?” I do. I offer you a cigarette and you grab my arm and haul me over to a table and a long bench against the wall. We sit down and you take my proffered cigarette to roll a joint. We talk as though we’d come to this party together. It was just one of those evenings; it was just one of those meetings. I think we must have talked for literal hours; it was light when I left anyway and that is no mean feat in December.

It is bright and hot. People carrying things and running about. It is August 2006 and we are preparing the 35th anniversary. I have just arrived and have that feeling you have when you get to this place, it’s sunny and there are parties to be had. I see you walking across the courtyard and suddenly have the uncomfortable realization that I have no memory of your name. I don’t know if you’ve seen me or even if you remember. Maybe it was a bit exaggerated in my head. We kind of skirt each other for the rest of the day and at some stage in the evening you come over to me and go “right um hi I don’t know if you…uh…we had this wicked night and…um…I’ve totally forgotten your name” Phew! I burst out laughing and so did you.

What do I say now? 

Wisely “There are things we don’t understand, our turn will come we must accept it and try to heal” 

or do I let out the cry that had been building inside all this year through. 

“Why? F*****g why?” I want to know. I have to understand or my insides will never stop boiling, nothing will fill this void but a reason. A reason to accept your death.

Nothing. My own words echo back to me from ringing silence. My eyes reflected in the gaze of so many who would cry under the same sky for a world that is so much emptier.