Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Goodbye for good

At the airport we both cried. I would have cried harder if I'd known what I knew now. I never would have left. Never let his hand go. My big, strong best friend. Sweet smelling. That smell is in my mind. The T-shirt they sent me had been washed too well. No matter how hard I breathe, his smell is gone. I got the phone call on the other side of the world, just as dessert was being served. And many phone calls after that. His coffin was too small for him, they said. He was cremated barefoot. Scattered, gone. What about that time we went skinny-dipping in his parent's pool? His mum teasing him about me, never believing he was gay. Nights out, everyone always thought we were a couple. Matching outfits. Holding hands. Sleep overs, curled together whispering secrets into the night. He would brush my hair, do my make up. Driving with both our hands on the wheel after too much champagne. Young and stupid. But alive.


Blogger Mary Blackchurch said...

I know what you mean about the smell..I have a sweater my firend wore the last night she was alive. That was over 14 years ago now. I've kept it in a special plastic bag..it still has some of her face make-up on the coller. I can still smell her..and often do..it makes me feel close to her somehow. I'm sorry you don't have something like that from your best friend Tui.

2:30 AM  

Post a Comment

<< Home