30 Days of Prose: Day 18: Vale Amicum

Vale Amicum

I remember thinking, once, that you were like a father to me. Of course, I had my own, as so many others do. The thing is, well, at the time I knew you, I hardly knew myself. More often than not I wore the mask of the fool; seems I thought stupidity and arrogance were better traits than understanding and knowledge. I know that now, but it didn't seem to matter to you then. 

I remember the days spent slinging winter revelers down a mountain; you got me a job that I hated but that's besides the point. You knew I needed something more than sunless days spent in front of a computer screen, World of Warcraft intravenously pumping into my system in the same amounts it was poisoning your own flesh and blood. I lost touch with him, with you, and I went away to college.

I remember five years or so later, seeing you at a stop sign. Well, truth be told it was a blinking light and you pulled out in front of me. I cursed you with all the expletives I could muster, guilt seeping in as you nodded toward me in apology. I don't think you realized who I was that day, but once I remembered you, a friend, a man who had done so much for me in rougher years, I wished I'd had a second to say hello instead of a fleeting half-reunion filled with sailor spittle.

Here we are; more years have passed. I hadn't seen you until your name flashed across my screen. Gone. After a separation of time amounting to years, we're too often given to think that feelings fade, that memories and gratitude somehow grow stale. Yet, as my arms began to tremor and images of the pain of someone I once called brother erupted effortlessly, I realized that your impression was lasting, though I hadn't given it any real thought. Not until now. Not until the things I say fall on eternally deaf ears.