Hard Talks

For about a year now, there's been a man on the fringes of my life that I've been friendly with. He was dear friends with Zillah, a Magic: The Gathering partner for the boy, and more recently, the ex-boyfriend of Kris.

He's a very, very odd person. Very odd. Most people can't stay to be around him for long periods of time, because he's weird. Which means, he's also fairly lonely. When Zillah moved, and The Boy moved, and Kris dumped him, there was no one left but Jen and I, and only I can tolerate him.

He's very immature. He's 28, with the life's knowledge of a 10-year-old, and the wisdom of a 40-year-old. Interesting complication, let me tell you. Occasionally, he needs someone to talk to, and I, apparently, am the best candidate. So, we go to the park on campus, and walk, and talk.

He's been trying to arrange to talk with me for about two weeks now. I've been dodging it, because I know he wants to talk about Kris, and how he can make her love him again so they can be together and happy. Being together makes her physically ill with guilt, because she doesn't love him, and only spends time with him because he begs. It has become my responsibility to gently inform him that she needs space, since she lacks the tact to do so.

We met at the park today. Turns out, he didn't want to talk about Kris. He had something entirely different on his mind.

He was supposed to be dead.

Wait, huh? Yeah. He had been born with a defect. He'd been born with two hearts, very odd tonsils, and a blood-type no one else in the world had ever seen. Perfectly functioning. But, the doctors warned his family that it was VERY LIKELY he would die before he was thirty. When he was 16, he'd had a premonition that he'd die before he turned 19. He didn't, but still didn't expect to live past thirty. Last week, he had a doctors appointment. They examined him, and guess what they found?

Functioning perfectly. Perfectly healthy.

So long as he doesn't need a transplant, or get in a car wreck, he should live a normal lifespan. The problem? He'd never planned to live. He didn't know what to do with himself. He had no idea where to go for the next 50 years. He was lost. What's the point of living? What was he supposed to do? He had no drive, no ambitions. What's the point of life?

I'd already gone through the same problem with Zillah. She had known since she was 13 that she would die on Oct. 23, 2006, the day before her 24th birthday.

She didn't die. She was lost. She'd never planned on graduating, getting a job, having a husband or a family. She stopped going to class, pulled away from her friends, started sliding into a depression. One night, a month before she graduated, I'd had enough. I'd seen enough. I sat her down on my bed, worked us up to a good yelling fight, and then screamed at her: "I'm sorry you weren't ready for this. Guess what!? You're alive!! Stop wishing you were dead, and start living!" (BTW, it worked.)

I can't do that with Remmi. He's not ready for it yet. So we sat there for a little while, and I thought about it. Why are we alive? What's the point of living? And then I knew.

"Moments like this. That's the reason we're alive. Moments sitting on a park bench, watching the fall leaves, talking with your friends. Knowing that you're loved, and cared for, knowing that, for just this moment, you're happy with yourself, and your surroundings.'

"Moments like right now, when time stands still. That's why we're alive. That's what we living for. Not to be a millioniare, or see the world, or work a mindless job on Wall Street.'

"Life is worth living, for times like right now."