Falling for a Memory

Saturday, September 28, 2019

Dear John,

Today I introduced you to my best friend, Michelle. As you might have expected, it was a little awkward considering you're dead.

"Jeez, Lee, I didn't know you were at a funeral," she said, hunching over her tea and staring at it with some determination. "I was all ready to give you shit about standing me up yesterday, and then you go and tell me it was for a funeral. Now I just feel like an ass." She dipped down farther, breathing in the steam rising from her cup. The autumn winds blew across our little cafe table, sending a shiver over Michelle, yet she still refrained from sipping the hot brew before her.

"It's okay, I should have told you." I stared out towards the bay. Boats bobbed against the docks and wealthy yachtsmen lounged upon their decks beneath large, colorful umbrellas. They never headed into the bay. Instead, they remained a gallery piece to be pointed at and appreciated by wandering tourists and suburban couples.

You always had a nice suit on, and a briefcase that smelled like polished leather. Perhaps you owned a boat out in the harbor, too.

"That's right," said Michelle, her voice perking up as she settled herself back into her wrought-iron chair. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Her tone brimmed with her natural inclination towards agitation, but I saw compassion in her wide brown eyes and concern bending her plucked brow.

"It was hard, okay? I told my boss I was at the doctor's. No one but you know I went."

Michelle gave a slight smirk. Not because she found any joy in my embarrassment — I don't want to give you the wrong impression — but because, like a big sister, she enjoyed hearing her value.

"Alright, I'm sorry." She released a small sigh and sipped her tea, grimacing at the mellow taste and looking longingly towards my untouched coffee. "Can you at least tell me who it was?"

"It...it was someone I knew from work," I said, my words stumbling out of my mouth. Please don't think little of me for not being more forthright about you. I just knew people wouldn't understand why you meant so much to me.

"That's rough," said Michelle, who leaned back and stretched her feet out onto the sidewalk. She then reclined her head against the hard edge of the cafe chair and looked up to the crisp blue sky, where the gulls circled the bustling plaza. "Was it one of the other assistants?"

I simply muttered no and then contemplated the cooling coffee before me.

"One of the associates then?" She glanced back down, watching me with a curious gaze. Again, I gave her a negative response. Then she screwed her face up, combing through her paltry knowledge of law firms. "A mail clerk?"

"No, it was no one at Blakeman." I felt a bit of color flooding my cheeks, and I turned my eyes back to the bay. I wouldn't throw my worst enemy in those waters, but the conversation and the guilt I felt over concealing you made me debate taking a plunge for a mere second. A shudder crawled up my spine, and I soon turned back to face the inquisitive Michelle.

She paused, straightening her back and cocking her head to the side. "Well, uh, I'm sorry to ask, but who exactly is it that died then?"

"A guy I knew." My lips struggled with the words and each time I attempted to admit the truth, I ended up sputtering and choking on my words.

Why is it so hard to admit? You were just a guy I knew. It's as simple as that. But, yet you were also so much more.

"He's just... this guy..."

"Oh," said Michelle. She drew the word out with some dawning realization. She hunched forward, drawing close, before placing her hands upon the table and interlacing her fingers. "You didn't tell me you were seeing someone," she whispered.