I Believe

I BELIEVE

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of our dear friend Evan ….”

I shut my eyes and let the words wash over me. The pastor’s melodious voice soothing me, bringing me a modicum of inner peace, making today a bit easier to bear.

I didn’t expect to be sitting here. In fact I rejected the idea of attending outright. How could I celebrate the life of my friend … lover … partner? Evan—who was everything to me—when I didn’t believe he was dead?

I believe that he is out there, somewhere. I don’t—I can’t—believe that he is dead. I know that I would have felt his spirit leaving me if he was indeed dead. I had not felt that. In my heart of hearts, I believe that Evan is still alive.

This service was not my idea, not my wish, not my desire. There is still a chance that Evan isn’t dead—that he is still alive … somewhere. I cling to that hope with all my being. It’s what you do when you love someone as much as I love Evan. So today’s service is a denial of my belief in Evan.

Friends and family have lost hope. They believe that Evan would have contacted someone before now if he was still alive. They have lost hope.

But disappeared doesn’t mean dead, right? I have considered all the possible reasons why he is not with me right now. Maybe he has amnesia. Or maybe he chucked everything—me included—and started a new life. Or he was kidnapped by pirates. Or beamed up by aliens. I don’t know. But he could still be alive. As long as there was the slightest shred of hope, I am a believer.

There wasn’t a body. Just an empty boat floundering in the ocean. An empty boat that Evan had taken out the previous day. The Gwendolyn Girl was found about a half mile off shore, listing terribly, heading for the ocean floor. The coast guard found her, and towed her back to the nearest port. Evan’s belongings were found in the boat, and I had to identify them. As far as I could tell, nothing was missing. Except Evan.

That was six months ago. The police and the Coast Guard are no closer to finding out what happened to Evan than they were that very first day. His bank accounts are frozen, his phone is dead, his passport, credit cards, debit cards, and social media were all inactive. Since the day he disappeared, there had been no indication that Evan is still alive. But I cling to hope.

Scenarios were posited. Was it suicide? Foul play? Misadventure? All possibilities. But no body. So I continue to hope.

I opened my eyes, and looked around the room. Friends, family, business associates, the curiously morbid we’re all gathered together. And the police. All these people have turned out for Evan.

The police have theories. They say there had been rumours about Evan’s life and the people that he associated with—business dealings gone sideways, angry investors, bad agreements made with the wrong people. But I have chosen to ignore these rumours, and focus on the Evan that I love, others be damned.

The pastor looked around. “If there is anyone who would like to say a few words, please join me at the front.”

Esme and John, Evan’s parents, got up to speak. When Evan disappeared, they were devastated, as was I. But unlike me, they believed that Evan had drowned, and he would never come back home. It made me sad. How could they give up hope that their son would ever return?

It was because they wanted closure that we were having this celebration of life today. They believed that there would never be a body to bury, so they wanted to celebrate their son’s life—before people forgot about the kind of man Evan was. That is why I didn’t want to be here today—I would never forget. But I couldn’t deny them their closure.

Their talk was lovely. It captured Evan’s persona so well. Their anecdotes rung true, making me cry and laugh at the same time. They knew their son so well. Evan was lucky to have two parents who loved and supported him so completely. Until they couldn’t any more.

After they spoke, the pastor asked if anyone else wanted to speak. I slowly got to my feet and walked towards the podium.

“I love Evan, and I miss him. I want him to come home.”

I returned to my seat.

My words would not have been a surprise to those in the audience who knew us—it has always been my belief that he is out there, somewhere, alive. Either he cannot make it home, or he doesn’t want to make it home. But he’s out there. If his body is found, then I will change my mind. But until then, I’m waiting for him to come home.

After the service, there was to be a gathering at Esme and John’s home. I didn’t want to attend. In my mind, it was a betrayal of my belief that Evan was out there somewhere, alive.

“Gwen, sweetie, please come,” said Esme, linking her arm in mine. “We want you to be with us, to celebrate Evan’s life.”

I smiled at her. “Esme, you know how I feel …” I smiled wanly. “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Esme hugged me closer. “I know how you feel, but maybe you would like to share in the memories others have of Evan?” She looked around the dissipating crowd. “There are so many stories from so many people who knew our Evan in ways we didn’t. People at work, his volunteer friends. Even people who knew him long ago from school. They all knew a different version of Evan than we did.” She looked back at me. “Please Gwen. Join us and celebrate Evan.”

I mumbled something, and walked towards my car, still not certain that I wanted to hear what others remembered about Evan. Their memories were ended, finished with his disappearance. My memories were ones that were going to grow when we were together again. They had not ended six months ago. I was certain.

As I got to my car, a stranger approached me, walking quickly. I didn’t recognize him from the service. I forced a weak smile, thinking he was someone who wanted to give me his condolences, or share a memory that he had of Evan.

He looked around, ensuring that we were alone. Then he said, “I know what happened to Evan.”

I was stunned. My pulse quickened. “Is he alive?”