Fallout
I don't get to tell him that his visits were the only ones I looked
forward to. The last time he was over he and Ryan went for a long hike
around Findley Lake armed with cameras and a mushrooming book. They came
back and Ryan made mushroom soup out of some edibles he had found, and
Nick was the first to taste it. He ate it without saying a word as we
laughed about things, old stories, misadventures. Ryan and I tried it and
the soup was terrible, and Nick just laughed and kind of nodded. Rather
than hurt Ryan's feelings he sat and ate leathery mushrooms and I never
get to tell him how beautiful that is, and how rare.
His cell phone's ring tone was Trios Gymnopedes and when I cried out,
"Satie!!" the first time I heard it he smiled this huge smile like I had
uncovered a secret. He always commented on my argyle socks. I want to
tell him that he's beautiful, and that his smile brightens a room, but
instead my stomach is slumping down to my toes and I can't keep my eyes
dry and there is a mouthful of anguish that I keep swallowing over and
over again. I had never seen Ryan cry before but last night he curled up
in my arms and we both just sobbed.
It was late and he was driving home and he never wore a helmet. The
report in the paper says he was driving erratically before the crash and
all I can think about is, what was going through his mind at that instant?
Was it, "oh shit..." or more of a sweet relief? There is blood in the
road and it is Nick Tobias. He had been so depressed for months, and
drinking, and we were trying to convince him to live with us for awhile in
the new big place but though he agreed to think about it there was
something in his eyes that said it wasn't going to happen. He was
supposed to photograph our wedding and just be there with that big smile
and radiance. Nick is dead. He was killed on the way home from work. It
was 4:30 in the morning and he probably hadn't slept in days. I would
give anything in the world now to hear one of his rambling stories, as
much as we used to poke fun at him about them. "Nick is dead," he told
me, face red, and I still don't believe it. Isn't there something they
can do? Put him back together? Put him in a cast? Only there is no they
just like there is no Nick just like someday that phone call will be
coming for all of the people that you love. And that is the thing that
cuts to the core. How incredibly fragile a thing it is, to be human. How
incredibly fleeting. I want to put you in my pocket and shelter you from
any danger, all of you. Columbus man, age 25, died in a crash on I-71
early yesterday morning and inside of that smashed body is so much
compassion and fear and beauty and love.
forward to. The last time he was over he and Ryan went for a long hike
around Findley Lake armed with cameras and a mushrooming book. They came
back and Ryan made mushroom soup out of some edibles he had found, and
Nick was the first to taste it. He ate it without saying a word as we
laughed about things, old stories, misadventures. Ryan and I tried it and
the soup was terrible, and Nick just laughed and kind of nodded. Rather
than hurt Ryan's feelings he sat and ate leathery mushrooms and I never
get to tell him how beautiful that is, and how rare.
His cell phone's ring tone was Trios Gymnopedes and when I cried out,
"Satie!!" the first time I heard it he smiled this huge smile like I had
uncovered a secret. He always commented on my argyle socks. I want to
tell him that he's beautiful, and that his smile brightens a room, but
instead my stomach is slumping down to my toes and I can't keep my eyes
dry and there is a mouthful of anguish that I keep swallowing over and
over again. I had never seen Ryan cry before but last night he curled up
in my arms and we both just sobbed.
It was late and he was driving home and he never wore a helmet. The
report in the paper says he was driving erratically before the crash and
all I can think about is, what was going through his mind at that instant?
Was it, "oh shit..." or more of a sweet relief? There is blood in the
road and it is Nick Tobias. He had been so depressed for months, and
drinking, and we were trying to convince him to live with us for awhile in
the new big place but though he agreed to think about it there was
something in his eyes that said it wasn't going to happen. He was
supposed to photograph our wedding and just be there with that big smile
and radiance. Nick is dead. He was killed on the way home from work. It
was 4:30 in the morning and he probably hadn't slept in days. I would
give anything in the world now to hear one of his rambling stories, as
much as we used to poke fun at him about them. "Nick is dead," he told
me, face red, and I still don't believe it. Isn't there something they
can do? Put him back together? Put him in a cast? Only there is no they
just like there is no Nick just like someday that phone call will be
coming for all of the people that you love. And that is the thing that
cuts to the core. How incredibly fragile a thing it is, to be human. How
incredibly fleeting. I want to put you in my pocket and shelter you from
any danger, all of you. Columbus man, age 25, died in a crash on I-71
early yesterday morning and inside of that smashed body is so much
compassion and fear and beauty and love.
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