Photo by Kubra Sagin
There’s an excellent type of friend I know in one capacity. Seen at least once every weekend, yet I’ll never make plans to see them: they just appear. They’re always happy, drunk and welcoming with a hug. It’s like we haven’t seen each other in a month, perhaps because we can’t remember last weekend’s actions. I find myself staggering through the club on the border of delusion when they pop up with something funky to brighten my senses. We’d share easily knowing the other would get you back the next weekend.
For three years this was the scene for me, then classes and assignments got more serious and the parade of Valley nights became occasional. I realised the out-and-about friendship couldn’t continue as I was withdrew from the club scene. These were the people I saw sunrises with, looking for a place to kick on. I missed the wild nights, but not so much the friends. I didn’t miss them because I knew I’d see them again; it seemed undeniable. The clubs would still be there, so it felt as simple as heading out to reconnect. We got a little older and developed, naturally. But when we stumbled upon each other, a drink in hand, we remembered the best of times. We’d go back in time, except now we’d matured from vodka to whiskey. We’d laugh at the half-cut memories, piecing nights together as best we could. They remind me again how I got the scar on my elbow falling into bushes walking away from GPO. I didn’t miss the out-and-about friends because I had unwavering faith that it wasn’t over.
I never thought the next time I’d see you was your funeral. I’ve read the dead described as pale and cold, but you still had colour. It was not the red in your cheeks, but the stories and memories that gave you colour. It was a simple relationship: we buy drinks, introduce each other to girls, have intense but idle conversations and ‘dance’ to house music. I have the clearest, full-to-the-brim with life picture of you in my head. That out-and-about friend is gone. There won’t be another time we randomly meet up. I looked at him in the coffin and knew that patience is not a virtue.