delivery confirmation.
i don't know what i was expecting, knowing what was in each box, not having seen these things for months, but i pulled each item out with shaking hands.
comic books and movies, an ashtray and some t-shirts, my paintings and some old letters.
i put all the boxes to the side. i set everything on the table in front of me and stared at them.
i bought him that bowling shirt in denver, and i don't know why i wanted this one when i bought him three.
one day he came up to me and handed me "channel zero." you'll like this. read this. i read it, and i handed it back to him. i looked at him, and i said, "give me more." that was the day i started reading comic books.
we were always losing ashtrays at griggs. whenever we moved furniture, we'd find some under chairs and sofas. they'd disappear within the evening. i bought three new ashtrays at work. this one was my favorite.
i always liked the fact that his favorite was destruction, and mine was delirium. we always had barnabas between us. we philosophized on those metaphorical embodiments of human conditions for hours, never tiring, never running out ... constantly lost in the entire sandman collection ... now sitting on my coffee table.
one night, one time out of countless, i beat him at trivial pursuit. yeah, i never let him forget it.
paintings from when i was imagining him, listening to him, arguing with him, seeing him for birthdays, anniversaries, fights. i wanted to throw them away. let me keep them, he said. i like to show off my girl.
t-shirts from our favorite bands, i would outline the logos with my index finger while we were in bed talking or watching tv or listening to music. we would quiz each other on who opened for who and when we saw them and where.
god, i'm so scared. i miss him so much. now, i have these relics, these small pieces of time, appreciated moments between those thousands of times that our eyes met. i've got these relics. i went through them like a flashback episode for a series finale. i went through them again and again, holding the t-shirts, examining the paintings, flipping through the comics. over and over, and i realized so plainly and painfully that i was looking for him. because he's got to be here somewhere, in the space between the pages, in the fold of the collar, in the dog-eared movie case.
but i could never find those moments before our eyes met or after we looked away, i just remember never blinking. he'll always be right there.
