Eugene
This piece was written months ago.
We sat next to each other. On the back porch of my mom’s apartment one summer. The rest of the guys had made a run to Subway or the corner store after triumphantly hopping the fence that separated my apartment building from the supposedly famous Franklin Giant Grinders (I never saw more than a handful of people in there at a time). I was in a rare mood of gratitude that I was starting to cultivate as a young adult. I wanted to tell you that I loved you, that I was happy you existed, that I really appreciated your humanity, your vulnerability, the multitudes you were and shared. What I managed to awkwardly get out in a sudden fit of bravery was, “I’m really glad you’ve become a best friend to me.” You smiled at me, your cheeks rounding (you’d always allow me to aggressively pinch them) and said, “Me too.” That was it. However, my heart was racing. This sort of confession of affection for another person was corny, mushy, cringe. You should just know that someone cares about you. I grew up in a home that reserved softer words for your infancy and toddler-hood – beyond that, they stopped completely. The opposite could be expected, in fact – you’d always be informed of a job never done well enough, a nit-picking at all that you are, an expectation of smallness. Add to this, the fact that you accepted my affections so easily, so simply. Well, frankly, my world was shifted.
The day I went to visit you at the hospital, it was a spontaneous act. I was in the neighborhood running an errand and wanted to pop in to see how you were doing. While checking in with the nurse, she asked me if I was family, a question I’d never gotten before and without hesitation, I said, “Yes.” I must’ve smiled to be friendly. I must’ve looked out of my mind. Because then I walked in on you and you were already gone. I’d missed you by minutes.
Now, seeing the expanse of time between today and your passing in 2008 due to your body rejecting your heart transplant, I’m so grateful I got to tell you how I felt about you in the best way I could at the time. Although it doesn’t heal the wound, it relieves some of the ache. I was finally able to put your photo on my altar - from the night you came to sit with me and hold me on the front stoop of my apartment building after I was crying over some stupid boyfriend. You were so protective of me, of all of your friends. In the photo, I’m wearing your hoodie, face still recovering from the tears as you held me for our selfie. It makes me wonder where that person who was so easily affectionate with her select friends went…
I knew the me that existed then would have found it impossible (and sometimes even inappropriate because of compulsory monogamy) to tell you that I loved you, but now, I can. I can tell my friends, my family, the people I care about the most how very much they mean to me while they’re still here. At your funeral, they opened the floor for anyone who wanted to share words. I couldn’t. Not only because of the grief-fueled rage I felt at losing you, but because of how deeply self-conscious I was in speaking about how much I cared for you, for anyone.
That day, a friend accompanied me. After the service, on the way to your burial, I squeezed my eyes shut and mentally told you I didn’t want to see them put you in the ground. I didn’t want that to be my last memory of you. It felt too permanent. Too done. My friend got lost on the way to the cemetery. By the time we got to where you were, I’d missed you by minutes.
Even in death, you were still looking out for me.
I dreamt of you only once since you passed. The space was dark with moving shadows. It was like a waiting room. We sat next to each other. I leaned my head onto your shoulder and told you, “I miss you.” You took a breath and said, “I miss you, too.” That was it. So easy. So simple.
Happy birthday, buddy buddy. I love you.
😭❤️🩹...oh, zulynette...thank you for continuing to stretch yourself in your vulnerability in such a public way...it helps those of us that struggle in similar ways to feel the things that are so deeply relatable...thank you ♥️♥️♥️
and gratitude and birthday cheers to eugene for being so beautifully perfect in what you needed then and still over the years even since earthly departure...✨🕯️✨