In Memorium

He doesn't want to leave the house. As soon as the sun goes down John wants to dive under the covers and sleep for days. It's in his DNA, he tells himself. Winter's coming, must hibernate. He peels himself off the couch, steps over the cat spread eagled on the throw rug, dodges the stack of magazines he meant to read last week, month, year and finds himself assuming the position: bent over at the waist, peering into the bowels of the fridge, searching for some semblance of edibles among the rows of condiments, rotting thai leftovers and jars of raw nuts. How can people live in Alaska, not seeing the sun for 9 months of the year? John's trying to make an effort. He signed up for a two week introductory trial at the hot yoga studio thinking he might meet some women and get his energy flowing. Or inverted, or something. He's managed to make it to two classes with one more day to go before it expires. It's 8 pm. There's still time to catch a movie, an open mic night, see some music; showering, however, seems to cut his impetus off at the knees. He knows if he pours a bath he'll open a bottle and he was saving that '98 for an occasion. Maybe he'll get dressed and cruise the home repair store- they're open all night. Pick a project, get handy, start something new. His phone buzzes. A reminder. It's Thursday. He actually has plans. Shit. It's today. He closes the fridge, opens the tap, splashes water on his face then drinks straight from the spout. Keeping it classy. Two hours. he's got time to shape up and ship out. Hard to believe it's been 5 years. October 24th, 2008. Sam's going to be there with Nat and Ashley. Billy and Kev, too. It'll be great to see them, together again. Eddie would've loved that. It shoulda been him. John was supposed to drive Eddie home but then the band played an extra set and Ed decided he had to take off. By the time they all arrived at Fran's for food it was 4 am; no one realized Eddie was AWOL. Ashley checked her phone and saw messages from Toronto Western. The gaggle of them, stunned, hungover, gutted, silent, spent hours in triage waiting. By mid afternoon they took him off life support. Thirty three years old, the year of Christ. Damn. Every year they get together and raise a glass then go for breakfast and head to his grave. Funny how he blacked it out today. Must be why he's been miserable as fuck all week. His phone buzzes again. Shit or get off the pot. For Eddie. Slainte.