Finished the room today and I'm wiped out. I have that layer of grime and latex on me from being around paint all day. But I'm kind of wired (probably from the paint fumes) so I'm no where near ready to go to bed. The room looks great. We chose the right color.
Last night I watched "The Quiet American" starring Michael Caine and Brenden Fraser. Man, what a fantastic movie. I love the way the story weaves one man's desperation to stay with his lover and in the process, gets sucked into something larger than himself. Truly one of the best pictures I've seen in a long time.
I also spoke with Elliott last night. I'll tell you, it was a great conversation lasting over an hour. Since Matt died he and I have spoken every six weeks or so, the mood generally getting better. Both of us marveled that it's almost been a year since Matt left us. Elliott was the closest to him when he died. The two of them spoke almost nightly. They were best friends as well as brothers. In a way, Elliott had taken my place. Not that I was a great friend in his last few years. I'm glad that Matt had Elliott, though.
In some strange way, I look at the way Elliott and I have been talking and I feel like we have become substitute "Matts" in each others lives. I like that. I really enjoy talking to him and our conversations. Last night we reminisced about MB, I told Elliott some stories from our youth, he shared a couple from Matt's days in Seattle. It's nice to keep Matt alive. Even through the disappointments and the sadness, he had a good heart. Matt was capable of great and many things. And he could also be a real jackass at times, too.
I say that because I loved him dearly. My anger and frustration at him in the end was due to so much going on in both of our lives at that time. When Jacob was born, I wasn't in the right frame mentally to be able to appreciate or deal with my oldest friend. Perhaps he resented that. Or maybe he thought he was giving me space, like he did that time when my Dad had heart surgery and I didn't hear from him for two weeks after he returned from college. Matt had a strange way of dealing with people.
I think I'll probably be reflecting about him all week. Funny how we are so prone to think at length about a person after they have died... and upon the anniversary of their death. Shouldn't I be thinking about Matt just as much on August 9th, the day he was born? That's not the way it works, though, is it? Perhaps by paying respect to him this week in the blog I was will be healed of the wound of his death and I will be able to go on. I hope.
He haunts me, though. He lurks around in my thoughts and dreams. And when I imagine I see a phantom running just around the corner in the hallway... I'm sure it's him, checking up on me. Making sure I keep it together and continue on with what I'm supposed to be doing.
I'll end with a recollection of the most recent dream I had of him. In it, the two of us were in my college apartment, sitting on the stairwell that led to my basement bedroom. As I was there, tying my dress shoes, Matt was sitting just above me, smoking one of those hand rolled cigarettes he'd perfected. Our conversation was typical. I was in a hurry, he was being casual, prodding me for information. Yet, in the dream, I was also agitated. I had to tell Matt something I knew. I had to tell him that I had been to the future and I knew he was going to die.
So prod away, he continued, until I figured out a way to tell him what I had to say. I figured out a way to explain that I'd defied the laws of physics and come back in time to save him. Because, no matter how much of a lunatic I sounded like, saving Matt was more important.
(These were the feeling I was having in the dream. I felt them down to my soul, they were so real.)
"Matt, there's something I have to tell you." I finally said.
"What is it, Scott?"
"I've seen the future."
"I'm serious. I know what's going to happen to you."
And then I woke up.
I couldn't save him. Not in life. And not in my dreams.