tea_and_ink | When a sun fades away... a galaxy collapses

When the phone rings insistently at 3:24 in the morning, you know something’s wrong.

See, since second grade it was three of us, Max (a.k.a. The Best Friend, peace offering bearer), Evan and I. Until Max and I took off to Argentine for educational reasons, and Evan went back to the States for the same purposes. Three years ago, Evan was diagnosed with leukemia, he held the fort. Until November 2006 when he got worse. Then he decided to come back to Venezuela where his closest family still lives. Max and I joined the battle in late December, we’d kept in touch with him, almost every day we’d call him, or send e-mails, or whatever. When holidays came along we flew here to be with the family, Evan included. This morning at 9.15 Evan passed away.

The only reason why I’m posting this is because Evan made me promise I’d tell the world how awesome he was. And I intent to. Max is trying to get his guitar to play, but is not working, he’s still too angry. Evan wanted me to write something for him, for his memorial, and he wanted Max to play that song he loved so much at the funeral. Last night he told us he didn’t want any sadness, because even though he would not live to see twenty five, he’d enjoyed immensely whatever few years he’d had. The guy was saying goodbye, in case he didn’t get the chance to do it properly when the time came. And when they called us at 3 in the morning today, he was getting worse, doctor said he probably wasn’t gonna make ‘till tomorrow. I took the car and dragged Max out of his bed, he cursed all the way to the hospital, I’d never heard Max cursed before, ever.

Evan was sitting by the window. In a wheelchair. He’d said he wasn’t gonna let them put him in one of those until there was NO OTHER choice, until he was dying. It hit us so hard that I had to hold on to something because my legs suddenly weren’t strong enough to hold the weight of my body. Evan was dying.

Juts last night he was telling us how he knew he’d never see Rome, he’d never get to play soccer again, he’d never kiss his girlfriend again, he’d never fly over the Atlantic, he’d never hear me singing off key while annoying the hell out of him again, he’d never see his unborn nephew, he’d never drink Soledad’s coffee again, he’d never see Texas again. And you know what he said after all that? He said it was okay, because most of those things had an “again” attached to them, and the only thing he was truly sorry for, was not being able to meet his nephew. And if that’s not a strong man… I don’t what is.

This morning I had a message by dazedizzy answering to something I’d posted, he read it for me, and told me to answer it, I wanted to leave it until later, and he said “No, Pao, you answer this now. I’m still here, and its SPN so, really is not a waste of time” after that we had our last discussion about SPN. We watched again that episode where Mulder gets his wishes from a genie of blue eyes. And he inherited me his CD collection, Max got his DVD collection. I’m keeping his football shirt, it still smells like him and Max decided he wasn’t returning Evan’s backpack, the one with the patches.

Evan wanted me and Max to perform at his funeral, which would take place outdoors; he didn’t care much for churches. Tonight we’ll be having a “something” at Soledad, which a coffeehouse across our old school, where everyone gathered and we drank coffee like it was our last day on earth. Well it was Evan’s and Soledad brought him an extra-large Mocha, his favorite, he couldn’t drink it, but he could make her promise she’d let us play there, because when we were little and Max was learning to play guitar and I was bored out of my head in the church’s choir we wanted to have “something” in that place, with and audience and everything else.

Max left the room, I think he’s crying by the sink, and it breaks my heart, because Evan would have made a crack about always knowing that Max was gay and had a crush on him, but Evan couldn’t correspond because he had his girl back in San Francisco, and she’d break Max’s legs if she ever found out about it.

I have to call her and tell her. This day sucks so loud. I’m pissed like you wouldn’t believe because Evan made me do this, because cancer is faster in youngsters, because he won’t live to be twenty-one, because Max can’t get the fucking accords right, because I left the keys inside the car and couldn’t lock myself in, so I had to cry outside, by a children’s park. And DAMN IT HURTS SO MUCH. I gave him the mix CD I’d made for him, it had LifeHouse, John Mayer (yeah I dragged him too), Bob Dylan and Kane (he was as easy as me). He loved it, and said he’d hear it until the day he died, he was joking of course, I knew he’d forget it in less than a month, and I hate him so much for being right, for making those jokes, for leaving us here to keep promises that otherwise would have granted him an ass-whooping from yours truly.

And I can’t keep doing this right now. I’ll have to come back later, or tomorrow, most likely after tomorrow. I still have to write what I’ll say at the memorial. Also I need to cry, by the sink probably.