Method

“Exactly.”

“So, you’re going to use your speech to compare swords with me?”

“Absolutely. May the ‘best’ man win.”

The photographer chooses that moment to speak up. “Blake, if you don’t mind, switch places with Lucas on the incline, he’s got you by a few inches.”

And that’s when we both lose it, and the shutter is pressed.

Leaden legs lead me down the path I swore I’d never take. Each step becoming more sluggish as I keep my gaze down. Once there, I close my eyes, turning my head in one last attempt to avoid the truth but the effort is futile. When I finally focus on his headstone, it’s all I can do to keep standing.

He’s gone. He’s really gone.

Birds sing nearby, and it’s not a pleasant noise, nor is it white. It’s a sign life keeps moving on without him.

Breaths burn like acid going in.

I have no words, none he can hear. He took that away from me, and from everyone else that loved him. We don’t have a say. We don’t get a goodbye. He robbed us of all of it with the way he left.

“Jesus, Blake,” I grunt out as I grapple with the permanency of his absence. No matter how many times I spoke it aloud, how many times I tried to acknowledge it and let the reality sink in, it never caught, until now.

He’s gone. My best friend is dead.

He’s part of half of the life I’ve lived. He’s a contributor to who I’ve become. He’s imprinted in me.

There’s no more denying it. There’s no more avoiding it.

He’s gone.

Fuck this life and the next one, I don’t want to be the good guy in either one of them.

Blake wasn’t the best role model, and he didn’t always give sage advice, but he was there for me when I had no one and nothing. I spent a lot of our friendship trying to understand him. No matter how much of an enigma he was, the role he played in my life could have never belonged to anyone else.

“You were a good guy, you just didn’t believe it.”

Hanging my head, I give in to the wave and let it crush me.

Choking on a fiery exhale I kneel down, pulling the coin from my pocket, I palm my forehead as the ground shakes beneath my feet. “If you asked me…I would have been there. I would have done anything… Damn you,” I rasp out, cracking wide. “I know you did what you did to protect us from the truth. I’ll never understand it. But now it’s my turn. I won’t let you down.” I try to compose myself and fail as I bury the last piece of him where he lays, pressing the coin firmly into the dirt beneath his name. “I love you, rest now, brother. I hope you found peace.”

“I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it’s not the answer.”—Jim Carrey

Mila

“Hey lady, what are you up to?” Amanda’s voice sounds over the line.

“I’m in the midst of developing Madame Bovary syndrome.”

“What’s that?”

“Ah, it’s an old cautionary tale about a Parisian housewife who gets bored and spends all her husband’s money replacing love with possessions.”

“Ah, retail therapy.”

“Exactly, but this time I have a good reason. I have a Martian about to take up residence, he or she

will need things.”

“I still can’t believe you’re pregnant.”