I never considered it. It never occurred to me. How could it? We were best of friends,
our conversations almost telepathic. Born just three months apart in the year 1953, we
didn't meet until five years ago when we both worked in the same building. Music was
our bond. From that bond we discovered other similarities, like our childhoods and the
inevitable traumas and delightful hijinks of our youth.
So why would it occur to me that this time, drinking beer, smoking a bit of weed,
bemoaning the inevitable disruption of this intrusive virus, would be the last time I would see him? Three weeks later, in isolation, in a hospital, he died.
Now when I see someone--on the street, the grocery store, masked and hardly recognizable-- we speak, not daring to touch, and I wonder, “Is this the last time I'll ever see you?”
Submitted by Jake Kaeser on 9/3/2020.