A year or so, after a friend’s suicide (Fragment from a larger story)

Now (1988)

It’s been over a year now and I still think of him often. I know ____ does, as every time we speak, he tells me. It’s what binds us together. He doesn’t cry over the phone, but he does come close. It’s been a year, and most of his friends are still reeling.

He comes to me during dreams based in the present, sometimes with people I’ve met since his death. He knows of recent events and songs I like, is rounded and up to date, but he never changes. Same hair, same clothes, and the same look in his eyes. And of course, he will always look that way.

A friend told me of her two girlfriends that were also close to him. They are still haunted by his ghost, and will be, in all probability, for quite some time. They dread his visits. One time, he appeared to them while they lay in the same bed, begging them to come with him. They woke up and yelled “Go away!” at him at the same time. They were both, according to my friend, shaken by the experience.

Honestly, I don’t know what the problem is. I go with him every time he asks.