in bloom.

1 - where he [might have] died

My best friend Jaime was dying, and all I could think about was not pissing my pants.

The worst thing you could possibly do was come across a seemingly dead body when you really had to go. I remember there was a unique coldness to him by the time I found him there, which I assumed was what happened when someone was dying.

He could've just been cold. I mean, he was stark naked at three in the morning. And it was the middle of April. Any sane person would've tried to wake him up as soon as they saw him. And I admit I should've acted quicker than I did. He probably would've wanted me to act quicker than I did. But I was afraid that If I made one drastic move, my bladder might've let everything go.

"Jaime?" I called out, though that was pretty stupid now that I think about it. "Jaime? Can you hear me?"

You must think I'm a shit friend. Listen, it wasn't like I expected to find him there, anyway. It was surprising, really, and I didn't know the right way to react. I just didn't. He'd been gone for two months at that point—just left one night without any word as to where he was going and why he left. And, well, it's not like I haven't been looking for him. I have. But at that point I really was just looking for a place to piss.

Not like I found a stellar location anyway. It was a narrow alleyway in between a tattoo parlour and a bong shop. We dubbed it Sinner's Pass though nobody really called it that except Jaime and me.

To be honest, I did think about leaving him there for a minute or two to take a leak. Plus, part of me felt like he kind of deserved to lay there for a little while longer. I thought maybe a quick brush with death would've given him a wake-up call. I couldn't remember the last time he was sober.

Okay, yeah. So maybe I was a shit friend. Maybe.

The more I looked at him, the bluer his face seemed to get, so I figured I should act quickly before I really lost him. Looking around the alley, I found a sad piece of cardboard propped against the stone wall. It had the word FRAGILE printed all over it like a bad joke. I picked it up and placed it on the floor next to Jaime, then tried my best to haul his body on it. Then, I shrugged off my jacket and tied it around his waist so that nobody saw, well, everything.

He looked absolutely ridiculous. I wasn't dumb enough to think we would go unnoticed. But I was used to doing the unusual, anyway. It was Jaime's style. He always had to have all eyes on him, even to his last breath.

I used to think of Jaime as my personal saviour, but at that moment, as I was dragging his limp and naked body on a piece of cardboard through downtown Toronto like a maniac, I found myself hating him a little. Luckily, it was the side of Toronto that was filled with crackheads and drug dealers, so our little scene was only unusual at a smaller scale.

Everyone told me I shouldn't have followed him to Toronto after graduating high school. And I knew they were all right. I'm a smart kid, or at least I used to be. I should've caught all the signs. But there was something about him that I couldn't shake off for ten years straight. I just couldn't.

Some people were laughing at us now. A couple of them were hooting. I walked quicker because soon enough, somebody sober enough to give a shit would probably call the cops. The last thing we needed was the cops.

I guess it's important to say that the last time I saw Jaime, he was unconscious with a dead girl right beside him in an abandoned building. He had blood all over his hands and chest. The things that went through my head were kind of the same—what the fuck do I do? I mean, a good person would've called the cops right away. But I'm not a good person. I never was.

I don't know who that girl was or what happened between her and Jaime because once I took him out of there, got him cleaned up and awake, he ran away. I saw him a couple times hanging around a place he called 'the shelter,' but he never spoke to me much. Just told me not to say a word to anybody and that the girl had been taken care of. I'd been staying at the shelter for the last week hoping to catch Jaime, but he'd never shown up until that night.

We were getting closer to the shelter by that point, which wasn't really a shelter and more of an abandoned building right by Weston that'd been taken over by a couple homeless people and drug addicts. I told Jaime he didn't have to stay with them. My parents were pretty wealthy so they helped me out with the rent, which in turn helped me keep the apartment we had when he skipped out on me. But he never came back.

The more I dragged Jaime through the streets, crouched over and keeping a strong grip on the cardboard, the more the ungodly amount of pain in my arms and back grew, the muscles tightening and constricting so much they felt like they were being severed. But I only held on to the cardboard tighter, my feet moving quicker just to get him to safety.

Once I got to the shelter, I banged on the door with my feet, the loud thuds resonating throughout the street. "Open the door! It's me! I have Jaime!" I said. The world did a flip, I swear, and my arms felt like they weren't there anymore. Hell, I didn't even realize I kept saying, "I have Jaime, I have Jaime," over and over until someone finally opened the door and took his weight from me.

"Jesus, Lee! What happened to him?"

There was someone lifting Jaime's body from the cardboard mat I'd created, lightening the load. I finally straightened my back, but the world went dark for a moment as the blood rushed to my head, and it took a couple blinks to realize it was Eric. According to Jaime, he was the one that'd helped him with the girl and 'took care of things.' He never told me how or why he did it. I didn't think I wanted to know.

"What the hell happened to him, Lee?"

"I don't know. I went around to Sinner's Pass—"

"You mean the South Street Alley?"

"Does that even matter right now?"

At some point, I must've been pulled inside because, suddenly, I was watching Eric put a ton of tattered blankets on Jaime. The sharp scent of bad body odour and piss started settling in my nose, one I swore I should've been used to after a full week at the shelter.

"How long do you think he's been out there? Do you think he's dead? Lee?"

Jaime's lips were looking pretty blue. "No. No, no, no. He's okay. See? He's fine. He's not dead. He can't be. Look, he's fine."

Eric stopped what he was doing for a second and looked at me, eyebrows all contorted and furrowed in a way that I hated. "Maybe you should go lay down for a minute," he said. "Just take a breather. I'll take care of him."

A rush of hot anger hit me as soon as he said that. "I've always been the one to take care of him," I said. To be honest, it made my stomach churn hearing those words come out of my mouth. It left a bad taste at the back of my throat like I just swallowed something bitter. But I still said it again. "I've always taken care of him."

"I know, Lee." Eric's look turned into one of pity. I hated that even more. "Man, I know. I just think you're a little startled right now. That's all. When you feel better, we'll help him together. But you can't help him like this. You know that."

I did know that. Hell, I knew that more than anybody.

"Okay, yeah." I settled down on the floor and pulled my knees to my chest. "I'll just watch him, then."

It took Eric an uncomfortable period of time to respond. "Okay," he said, then turned back to Jaime. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything."

My best friend Jaime was dying, and all I could think about was how I could live on without him. I was a smart kid, and I knew I should've just left him there. It was what he deserved. But Jaime was my personal saviour—the light of my life.

And the light was going out.