that's awasum

Aaron
9/09/04 + 11:48 a.m.

A friend of mine disappeared several days ago, leaving no clue as to where he was going other than an email to his family indicating where they could find his car. He had been depressed. Very depressed, so it seems. The car was located where he said it would be, and he had left his belongings in the front seat. He, himself, was not found until yesterday, when his body turned up on the shores of Lake Michigan.

I'm sorry to be so cold, reducing this tragedy to stark facts. I can think of plenty to say, but honestly, I don't want to. It seems that anything that I could possibly say can be refined into a very few categories: "Sorry," "How," and "Why." And I can't see how any of it matters, or if it even means anything, since even if there were answers, it wouldn't make a difference. Aaron is gone.

The finality of it is impossible to grasp in its entirety. Dying is the last thing we will ever do.

I am covered in a heavy sadness like warm molasses; it feels almost like general ennui, as if it's not really attached to a particular thing. It seems wrong to give it a label, as if by addressing something so big with a specific statement or explanation, one might reduce the event to minutiae, and I have neither the authority nor the inclination to do that. So I won't say much.

I will say, I didn't know Aaron very well. We hung out at a handful of events, and I looked forward to seeing him each time. He was so sweet, you guys. So sweet.

He had a soft voice and a laugh that was lilting and high-pitched, tittering upwards so that sometimes you wouldn't notice him laughing until he was fully doubled over in hysterics. He had a number of unique postures and mannerisms that made him easy to recognize and lovingly impersonate. He was remarkably intelligent, eloquent, and well-informed, and had a gently twisted taste in jokes and music. He knew a hell of a lot more than I about pretty much everything, but was never didactic. He often wore his dreadlocks tied up in pigtails, adorned with those elastic fasteners with plastic balls on either side, accessories usually designated for little girls. Aaron pulled it off, though. He had a whimsical style and what I perceived to be soft spirit. It seemed to me, his face was usually fixed in varying degrees of a very genuine smile. He was quiet, but receptive.

Man, I didn't know what was going on. I still don't, and never will.

I'll miss him.

My imagination is dredging up all sorts of grisly details and piecing them into scenes that are being screened somewhere way in the back of my brain, but I won't describe those things. They're not important. When I close my eyes, I see my friend's gentle face, right there behind my eyelids. He looks like he's sleeping. When I open them, I see him still.

I can't think of anything else to say.

Oh, Aaron. Goodbye.

I have the address for where the funeral will be held, so if anyone wants to send condolences to the family, email me at luvabeansATyahooDOTcom. Thank you.

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