You died a long time ago now. You had just been resurrected in my facebook pond of the past. We were getting divorced. Both of us. It was going around at the time and you pinged me from the Ukraine. I wonder if you had not taken that bottle of pills if you would be huddled in some steel factory right now knowing you were the first punches in the next big fight.
I was adding music to my library. Inspired by a new rush of feeling. This new guy, he brings up thoughts of you. And I stumbled on Van Morrison and paused.. The first real all day, sweaty sex partner in crime. We were such good friends. I was so young back then. 17? 18? Young to your 25, old man. But we would lie on your torture device of a pullout bed, smoking cigarettes, ashtray on my naked chest listening to Van Morrisson admitting that it was indeed the best album to fuck to.
You had this comforting voice. So low and deep, the Scottish edges still there. So easy to laugh and take things in stride. I knew you were a drunk back then, we all were. It was our job. You were the smartest of all of them, Blair. Such an easy brain you had. Learning Russian fluently to read all those Dostoyevsky tomes. It took you to the wilds of the East and you never came back. Bringing with you your Scottish pride and punk rock super stardom. I miss you. I only realised that this morning.
Somehow you faded. We all did as we dispersed, degrees in hand. You were always so kind. Even when you would come back, tail between legs apologizing for some drunken discretion. I never minded. The best break up as we sat in our haunt, you having again admitted to sleeping with someone you found repulsive and I said, “I just don’t think I can be with you anymore.”
I did not feel betrayed, I just never understood how you could want these women you hated and still want me. Maybe I thought I was one of them. That it made me less beautiful. You just nodded and said, “ I would do the same.” And we smiled and had a beer and seamlessly moved into friendship.
That moment decades later when the little friend request poked me. We started chatting and you told me about your life. Your kids , your troubles, your band. You were the same, flirting like the first time. Impressed with me as you always were, making me feel smart. You sounded sad. I think whoever she was, she broke your heart and stole something. You almost came home. You would have lived down the street and your kids would have met mine. The what ifs that were not enough to pull you through. I wish they had been Blair, and I could show you my dog. Though I think it would be my ridiculous cat that would have pleased you the most. He’s kinda like you.
I am sorry it was too heavy, but I understand. Just like back then. That draw to the dark places that you could not help. I don’t know why today is the day that I started to mourn. It’s grey outside and I have been feeling romantic again for the first time in almost as long as it was since I heard you had died. Maybe it’s that. My heart is back where it was when we first met as I mentioned you in passing during one of those expose yourself talks that you have when sliding into love. He looked genuinely sad when I said you had taken your life.
So I wanted to just write you here. Let you know. I always love you, even in those scotch soaked moments where the Russian tragedy plays out. Goodbye my friend.
