Here it is, I guess it's the last time I'll be able to visit you. I'm sorry about that, but I'm eighty-six now, and I'm going to live with my son and daughter-in-law. The doc says I'm fine for now, but will probably go downhill quickly from here. You know, you were wrong about one thing, if just one. I still remember you. You said I wouldn't be able to, but I did. You said that some people weren't meant to live, that every minute you lived was borrowed from someone else. You said that after you died your life would be erased minute by minute from the memories of everyone who knew you. It was a fight, oh, believe me I had to fight, and if I lost the concentration for even a day, you faded that much, but I did it, I remembered you, and I'm going to prove it.

I can't remember exactly when I met you, but I do recall how. Mutual friends took us to a café to play hearts with them. We ended up staying all night, talking. From the first moment it seemed like we'd known each other forever. We were nearly inseparable in those years, and we shared everything -- joy, sorrow, frustration. I don't know how you did it, but you knew everything about me -- everything -- and I thought I knew everything about you. I found out later that I didn't. I knew you better than anyone else ever had; I am sure of that. I like to think I knew some things even better than you. That could just be an old man's delusion, though.

I never understood back then how you saw right through me like you did. I just accepted it; it was your way. You saw things most people never noticed, the little things usually missed or disregarded. You pieced your accumulated observations together with skill and wisdom impossible for someone your age. You knew exactly what was on strangers' minds as they passed by. You could explain complex ideas so simply a child could comprehend. I still haven't acquired that kind of wisdom, and I rather think I'm a bit ahead of the crowd in that regard.

I did learn from you, dear. I see now that your vibrance came with a price. You paid so dearly; it just -- wasn't -- fair. Look, you're making an old man cry. You'd think I'd have accepted your death by now, but I can't. You should be standing here, fighting off old age, struggling to remember the events in my life, not this way. You could have done so much with the time I've had. You did more in barely more than twenty years than I've done since. It's not -- no, you were right there, too -- the world isn't ready yet, even now. Really, the rage that I felt subsided long ago. You'd be proud of me, even if it did take a little too long. There's no point to the anger now, and there really never was. That took a long time to get past. I still don't know if I believe in a god. If there is one, I'm sure that we're not on the best terms.

"Fate can be as cruel a mistress as a benevolent one, Joshua." You said that, in one of those moments -- those ones when your eyes looked ageless. Time always stood still for me when you looked like that. You were beautiful, you know. I never told you, and I'm sorry for that. I was so afraid. Those moments filled me with a dread that I could never describe. By some cruel twist those are the times I remember most vividly now. I wish you could talk to me. Sometimes I could swear you do. Would it have changed anything if I knew back then what I do now? I wish I could say that I'd have been more prepared, but I guess I know in my heart that I probably would have shied away from you instead. Our few years together were filled with such an intensity, such a brilliant compactness; every moment was full. You were priceless; how could that have lasted forever? Diamonds might, but...

You had a drive that was simply unearthly and an insight even more startling. You tried to explain the role of fate in your life to me so many times. I get it now. You were put on earth to find and save the people the world would need later. You gave them strength and vision when they had given up, and you put them on the right path. You just put so much of yourself into refining these jewels of people that you couldn't sustain yourself. You must have loved watching your gems shine once they were on their own. You must have resented it sometimes, too -- not often -- and I'm sure you accepted your fate happily, but you had to wonder what it'd be like to be one of them. They led full lives, but normal ones; yours was nothing short of extraordinary.

You didn't know how much I watched you. There was one night that's especially vivid. I was in the balcony of the auditorium the night of the winter dance. I didn't expect to see you there, but my eyes were drawn your way as soon as you slipped in the door. There was something different in your manner, as if you had to be there. You were wearing a long, ice blue dress with thin straps that failed in trying to hide your shoulders. You must have been lost in your own thoughts because you just stood there, transfixed, watching the people move about the room. I swear, for a few minutes I was drawn into your mind, and I could only see from behind your eyes. You were exquisitely alone even though you knew every thought in the room and the history of every person there. You couldn't shut them out, either. Their spirits surrounded you until you were drowned in all their voices. Only resignation and sorrow pounded in your chest. Dread built up from a well beneath while you stood there, almost defiantly balanced on a pinhead in the midst of an unseen storm. Tears trailed from your colorless eyes, untouched. I was suddenly back in the balcony watching you again when your eyes shifted to the band. I could see the surroundings slowly working their way back in through your senses, and the music easing out the tension in your poise. You threaded a path through the crowded dance floor like a ghost, fading into the back hallway when you reached the other side. My eyes were tied to the spot where you disappeared for the next three songs. It felt like I'd aged five years in the past five minutes. When I had finally gathered enough of my thoughts to move again, I realized that not a single person other than me had even seen you. It was as if you had never even been there, except the only thing I couldn't forget was that you were.

When you're young you don't think of the things that consume your mind in the years that follow. Well, maybe you did. Sure, I knew that you spent too much of yourself. Time and again I pleaded with you, thinking you didn't see what you were doing to yourself. Of course you did. You knew better than I did. Those brief struggles of will between us always ended with my relenting. Those were the only fights we ever had. You explained as simply as you could at the time why you couldn't do as I asked. It pained you that I worried so much, but you couldn't pause, couldn't stop. "There are those things each of us must do, roles we must fulfill in the time we have, Love. Let me do what I must."

Love -- yes you did love me, and I loved you. I still love you. Ours wasn't that trite kind of relationship that thrived on college campuses, though. You laughed patiently and understandingly at all that girls I fell headlong for, a different one every other weekend it seemed. You were my best friend, the sister I lost. I never spent more than a moment questioning why you didn't flit through the bevy of guys I was sure you could have had. I think I would have threatened any guy who tried to put a hand on you. I wanted you to be happy, but I doubt I would have thought anyone deserved you. I know I didn't deserve to have a friend like you. I often told you that you should have more fun, be less serious, but you always turned my suggestions gently aside. "What could possibly interest me around here? Is there honestly any one or thing here that you feel my time would be better devoted to?" There never was; even though I knew that your foregoing what I called a life in favor of something else bothered me. I didn't know why.

You were too busy living to have a life. Your every waking moment -- what moment weren't you awake? -- was spent talking to someone, working on some project, or devising a solution to some problem. So rarely was any of your energy put to use for yourself. At times I worried about that, but when I needed a little more of your time or attention for some minor concern, you never failed to give it freely. All problems seemed so simple after I talked to you about them.

You gave of yourself too freely and to too many. I never even saw half of the things you did; I never really wanted to. I didn't realize what you meant when you tried to explain. You said, "My life isn't my own. I live as I want to, but also because I have to." You spent your day hours with people I didn't see until after you weren't here anymore. Some of them I never saw or met. Your free time was spent with me for the most part. Even though you never really broke down, it was your time to rejuvenate and get perspective on the day's events. We talked about philosophy and spirituality, drugs and class differences, history and the computer revolution. We played devil's advocate for each other, worked out both theoretical and real moral dilemmas, and discussed the campus issues of the day. Your calm reasoning never failed to amaze me. You impersonally analyzed everything, from every imaginable viewpoint before finally telling me your opinion. You challenged me to do the same, but my emotions and opinions always got involved. You envied that, you said. For some reason the same miracle that gave you that remarkable mind also gave you a distinct emotional detachment from the world. It was necessary. How else could you have dealt with the constant flood of emotion and thought that you gathered from those around you? Your distance also made it easy for people to trust you. I felt honored that I was the one person that you really enjoyed spending time with.


Continued

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