When someone calls me at 10:45pm, warning lights don't usually go off in my head. When that person calls three times, though, I get a little scared. When his sister's shaky voice greets me on the other end of the line, I brace for the worst.
And the worst came.
Alvin died of unknown causes right after Thanksgiving. There were no warning signs.
Sometimes, the ending is a subtle one. There isn't exactly a round of applause or giant sweeping curtain.
I miss him in a way that's totally foreign to me. It's not like we were best friends or anything; I'd only known him a couple months. But we had a pretty intense understanding. His physical disability set him apart from others, while my isolation stemmed from being the new girl in town. We were both in search of a friend who had plenty of time to listen and plenty of stupid jokes to share. Of course, we were able to easily find that in one another.
Alvin, I'll never forget the first time we ventured out for bubble tea. I didn't tell you how nervous I was and I sure hope you didn't notice. I'd never had a friend who was paralyzed before; I didn't want to say or do anything wrong. Thankfully, you were understanding. Easy to talk to, as well. My anxiety proved to be completely unnecessary.
Even though we only got a small amount of time together, I feel lucky. The world could use more people like you.
You will be missed, my friend.
Love,
Lisa
Goodbye, Alvin
A cool breeze slid under my jacket, reminding me that autumn in San Francisco was not very forgiving. With a shiver, I realized I would need a winter coat soon.
Lights flashed from across the intersection. Old Navy's storefront was lit up like a cartoonish Christmas tree. I stopped walking for a moment, so I could marvel at the spectacle. Winter coats were on display in the main window. A spotlight had been strategically placed on the black peacoat in the center.
I assured myself I would purchase that coat. After payday.
My phone buzzed with a text. Nick was checking up on me, making sure I had successfully navigated my way from The Mission to Portola. I informed him I was almost there. The 8x bus would lead me straight to Alvin's door. Piece of cake.
I darted across Market Street. The bus driver didn't blink as I shoved my wrinkly dollar bills into the machine. Business as usual.
Inhaling sharply, I grabbed onto one of the leather straps. There was nowhere to sit; apparently, it was the right time of day to be heading South.
Downtown grew smaller and smaller; Portola was nowhere near the city center. The sky kept darkening until it was a murky gray color. Fog wasn't a type of weather in this part of town; rather, it was a way of life.
I called Alvin because texting wasn't an option.
"I'm close," I informed him.
"Ok. I'll leave the house now," he said. "Meet me outside the corner store."
Anxiety coursed through my veins with a fierceness I hadn't felt since I'd seen Nick in the lobby of the W Hotel. That had been two months prior, and it had been completely overwhelming. Like being hit by a speeding, extra-long freight train.
I couldn't tell whether I liked the feeling or despised it. The excitement was there, of course, but it was tainted by sheer terror.
As the bus cruised to a stop, I spotted Alvin's wheelchair. Even from across the street, I could see the hope in Alvin's brown eyes. It had taken six years, but he had finally found a friend who would accept him in his present state...regardless of how damaged or dependent that state was.
I stepped off the bus, keenly aware that this interaction would have a dramatic effect on both our lives. I greeted Alvin, then began pushing his chair down the street as though it was something I did every day. We started talking and wihin a block or two, I couldn't seem to remember what I had been afraid of.
Alvin pointed toward a park. Rain trickled from the sky, landing on our heads. But we barely even noticed the water. A blizzard couldn't have deterred us; we were on a mission, and together we were unstoppable.
