At Least They're Committed

I can’t get his head to stop spinning nor his eyes to stop rolling. Not yet. I can slow them down occasionally by putting my hands on either side of his face pressing my palms hard on his temples and staring right into his panicked green eyes.

“The funeral is Saturday, 11 a.m., at the civic center,” I say. “Maybe leave Friday morning? Up to you.” Then his brain is off again, reeling uncontrollably like sinkers and fishing line rolling in and out of streams of denial, anger, bewilderment, and grief. These guys, you see, have never gone out and made new friends. Not a one of them. They had each other in high school 27 years ago, and despite being hundreds of miles in every direction, they only have each other now.

And now Pat’s dead. The ornery, controversial, wearing-a-half-a-pink-towel-as-he’s-coming-down-my-staircase-while-D’s-at-work-and-Joel-is-apologizing-to-me friend that no respectable woman would want but kept this group together like an Italian mother, was found dead in his trailer on Saturday, Nov. 1.

On the towel trip, he rousted my children while D and I were gone, pumped up their tires, strapped the

‘baby’ into his bike seat and cycled all of them up to the grocery store and back, gathering the goods to make us breakfast. “What a cute family out on their bikes!” D and I both thought as we passed on our way home. “Oh, hey, wait! That’s my family!” That image is burned in my brain, thankfully. He left Lily his hair dryer. Actually, I think he forgot it then said to make sure she knew she could have it.

Yeah. I liked Pat. No really, I did. I pissed him off and he made me roll my eyes, but I really did like him. I don’t remember a whole lot about all the things we talked about at D’s last class reunion a couple summers back, but I remember lots of well aimed, well intended barbs going back and forth. Lot’s of laughter, lots of “Oh, you think soooo, eh?” I also remember he asked me questions most people don’t. Real specific, real personal questions that I do so enjoy delving into. (people don’t ask me near enough questions)

We don’t know what happened yet. He had diabetes and partied way too much. He had a cancer scare less than a year ago but overcame it. He evidently was in a car accident a short while ago . . .

We know his mom found him, but we don’t know if he was in bed, peaceful, or on the floor (I won’t go into what my mind conjures on that one, though I would if this were about someone I didn’t know), or maybe sitting in his chair watching TV. Maybe we’ll find out. Maybe it will be enough. Probably not.

Eventually, D and all the other guys’ heads will stop spinning, the fantasy football games will go on and life will resume. But none of us will ever understand why the one who held them together died alone. I hate that.