Lost but Heard

In the city of sin, the reaper walks in the light. I’ve come to learn that now. 

I went on a trip to Las Vegas, just my friend and me. “My best friend!” That’s what he called me, but he was a hindrance to me, or so I thought of him as such. But I went with him on this trip cause he invited me and paid for me to go. How could I say no?

We hit the pool, and he wanted to play some childlike games. I was hesitant but gave in. It was fun. I hadn’t let loose like that in a long time.

He was different from me in many ways, and I always thought myself superior. Why? What was I afraid of?

He was outgoing, extroverted, loud, and rowdy. I was anything but.

The city that never sleeps? That seems like a warning in retrospect.

How selfish the human mind can be. He asked me to come with him. He paid for me to join. And I never thought about his needs. I never asked if he was OK or needed someone to talk to, but I probably wouldn’t have been good to talk to anyway. I was far too self-invested to see or hear anyone beyond myself.

We’d been there two days. Saw a concert, it was fun, did he give any signs? Any implication? How would I know?

It seemed like things were going well to one blind from the suffering of others.

He said no gambling, no prostitutes, no getting drunk. That much I had obliged. But I damn well wanted to see some half-naked women taking selfies for a few bucks. See some drunken assholes blowing their money and any brain cells they had left away. I wanted to see the performers on the street doing their act to some no-brained onlookers hoping for a few bucks to come their way. I wanted to see the side of the city where the sleepless reside and the sinners seek pleasure.

But he didn’t want to see it. He said he was sore and tired. He asked me to stay with him. But I said no. I told him I wouldn’t be gone for long. And I wasn’t. I was only gone for two hours, maybe three; I can’t remember exactly when I left.

It’s funny how people in horror movies clamor for the light to escape whatever terror lurks in the shadows. But the real monsters walk in the bright lights all the time, and the darkness is empty.

I remember walking back into the hotel room. I heard a slow drip, drip, drip. I thought it was the faucet or the bathtub. But, God, I wish it had been the faucet!

The bathroom door was left ajar, I called his name, but he did not answer.

Finally, I pushed open the bathroom door and saw him there. He was in the bathtub, or at least most of him. His arm hung over the side, no sway, it didn’t twitch, it hung immobile, it looked eerily calm. That is except for the crimson bracelet that formed around a cut on his wrist. Most of the crimson juice was congealed and held firm to his arm, but occasionally a drop fell to the floor, making a drip as it joined a puddle of its many crimson siblings below.

I didn’t move for the longest time. I’d forgotten how. Consciously I couldn’t do much but stare. Slowly I began to take in more than just the lifeless limb hanging before me. I saw his weapon of choice, a small blade removed from his shaving razor. It sat motionless on the edge of the bathtub. I saw a note sitting alone on the counter near the sink. Then, finally, I regained the use of my limbs as I slowly stepped toward the message. On it, he had only written three words; “Nobody loves me.”

I wanted to say that his note was untrue, that I had a love for him at the least. But I knew I had shown him none. I knew the only love I expressed thus far was for myself. 

The worse part was the strange thoughts of relief that followed. He had been far better than I at saving his money. And I knew that in his will, he left his saving to his one and only friend, me. I’d always told myself I was friends with him for more than just money; frankly, I couldn’t think of why. It had been some time since he and I had honestly gotten along. Still, I knew something in me would miss him, and I just hoped that part would outweigh the side of me relieved by his departure.



I write this now, having come home. I’ve seen his last will. He left me everything. I’ve realized I need to think like him. Think about how he would want to see the money used. He always loved live music, so I will see a couple of concerts. He left me his dogs. I promised always to look after the mutts.

He requested his ashes be taken back to his hometown and spread his ancestors’ lands. I will see it through.

I wasn’t there for him in life. I was distant. Hell, I didn’t even cry at his funeral. I never cared enough. But now is the point that I change. In his death, I will be the friend he deserved, the one he truly needed. I will live my life for both of us, taking nothing for granted.

Every night I see his body, sitting in that tub. I hope I never forget it so it can always remind me of the friend I ignored. The friend who was lost when he only needed me to listen. Until I complete every last promise I made to him (and there are quite a few), I will never cease my quest to make for my mistakes.

The day I lost my friend was the first time I truly heard him.