Jim van den Bos
As I wipe the sleepy sand from my eyes,
my other hand looks for my phone
Habitually I start up facebook, to see
I open a message on your page.
Some friend thanking you for the good times,
but ending the gratuitous message with R.I.P..
Involuntarily I apparently use one hand to snatch clothes,
as I use the other one to dig for information.
Like bouncing balls in my mind, questions.
Who? How? is it true? while I slip my shoes on.
My mother is on the phone, I am on my way to her.
I run out the door, tripping over my feelings and laces.
I walk on the street, devouring snippets of digital info.
A car, a sidewalk, epileptic driver with new medication.
More victims. A grandmother and her small special joy.
You matter most to me, you and your boyfriend.
Splattered on the pavement, my gut reels and turns.
I just keep seeing your face, and your beautiful smile.
You embody friendship best from all my friends.
And you always do, or did, loyalty without effort.
Never a screaming “look what I did” in our time.
Just the simpleness of being there, asking things.
Dancing around, foolish fun, talking about everything.
Our foolishness made my stomach hurt with laughter.
We would look for our imaginary friend in the club.
Asking innocent strangers if they had seen Jasper.
And when they would reply “Who, Jasper?”.
We would reply with “No, Jahsper”, in our poshest English accent.
And they always, no exception, say no, and not get the joke.
And we would piss ourselves laughing. Our thing.
Whenever you needed a place to sleep I had it ready.
It seemed like a selfless thing to offer freely and always.
But I have to be honest now, it wasn’t. I did it for our talks.
Deep into the night, we forgot time, discussing music, love, life.
Intimate adventures were dissected and analyzed.
Everything without a grain of judgment, free camaraderie.
This is in the past, I know. But I remember every detail.
I can place things where they should go, I can do that better now.
It was an accident, there is no guilty party, it is just tragic.
A classic case of “The wrong place at the wrong time.”
It took me most to deal with the “what if I’s” in my thoughts
But I remembered you telling me to stop worrying, as you know I tend to.
As I write this where we always sat, I feel calmer.
Just thinking about you and our memories helps me.
I can make better sense of the chaos of the world.
Because of our wonderings, our meanings, our undying love.
Even though you are not here now cheering with me.
I feel your presence and I think “Cheers bitch” as I raise my glass.
This all happened more than a few years ago, I really know.
But these things flow regularly through my now settled mind and heart.
Even though it still hurts me to think of your unfolding dreams,
I shall try to imagine you on your cloud, teaching the other angels.
How to live their heavenly afterlife, weaving in a joke or two.
Spreading that unparalleled joy of yours. Smiling that smile of yours.
The memory of which
I will carry
all my years
until we meet again.