Requiem

One day, about a year ago, I got a call I never expected.

And, in a few sec­onds, the wel­come warmth of an old friend’s voice chilled my heart as his words sank in. Our mutual friend Steven Wright had gone to New York for the week­end, he told me. And he’d caught a buzz. And he’d overdosed.

I shrank back in my seat as I said, throat clos­ing as the words came out, and he’s – he’s not alright? My friend’s tone of voice had already given me the answer.

There was no funeral, which was prob­a­bly appro­pri­ate. Steve wasn’t a reli­gious guy. He believed mak­ing the best of a moment was best way to live. He never thought any­where near far enough ahead to be remotely con­cerned with an after­life. In lieu of fune­real remem­brance, Steven’s par­ents asked that his friends cel­e­brate his life.

So here I am, Steven. Remembering.