I took a quarter of a trip and stayed home, everyone else was going to Woof Club, hence the trips. I wondered if that was a good idea, after I'd done it. We all have that kind of well-there-you-go, shattered bunnies, piecing head lights, lost looks on our faces. We're being gentle with each other. It's a car crash! Shane was interstate for work, he's only just got home.
Nobody is saying much. They have left for the party.
I'm sitting on my balcony, smoking pot watching the world go buy. Crying. Sitting. Trying to feel it. Repeating, Tom has died, in my head, but it still doesn't feel real, doesn't feel as though it's got any truth behind it.
He really died.
I'm sitting on the balcony, with a cup of tea, feeling stoned, waiting to feel trippy, the light is just beginning to fade on a glorious day.
I didn't feel like going out. I just want to feel out of it. Sit still, let it all engulf me. I haven't decided about work tomorrow. If you can't take a day off... Tom would approve.
I asked him to give me a sign - you know how they say that the spirit lasts for three days after death, before it vaporises, when it is all knowing, all powerful - if I should take a years leave now and write, like Tom was always telling me to? Follow your dreams, he said. Life is too short. I guess it would have to be a sign by tomorrow.
He can feel free to use Nick as the messenger.
That was our joke, when, one night after he'd wished up good health for himself, after waving his wand around his head, with a flourish, he asked me what I wanted, while his wand was the most powerful, he smiled. I replied without thinking, A thirty something Italian guy named Nick. The quickness and intensity of my response took Tom by surprise, making him laugh, a little startled. He looked at me, "Well?" and smiled his knowing look. "I see." Since then, Tom has joked, if I was having a down day, Where is my wand? Where's that damned Nick?
Feel free to use Nick as the messenger, right about now, Tom. I could sure use the distraction.
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