He wore a tie every day. A young and handsome man with a shy smile. And yes, strawberry blonde hair. His name was Kevin. I saw him in several of my history classes over the course of the years but I never talked to him until my last year @ college when he took his seat in front of me in the lecture hall. Us, both history majors, had a healthy obsession for Dr. Marten's history classes but we had diametrically opposing personalities. Idle chit-chat before class was how it started. Actually, it started with me being my usual brazen self and asking "So?... like, why do you always wear a tie?" He laughed and revealed to me a beautiful smile, friendly eyes and a gentle voice. "I don't know. I guess I just really like them." "But no one *likes* ties… Is it b/c you're a Jehovah's Witness?" *ding ding ding* Wow, I got it right on the first try. I think I may have even impressed him with that bit of deduction. And it wasn't b/c I'm super smart or anything of the like, I just happened to have been tag-teamed on my doorstep a the week prior.
Our small talk turned into an occasional coffee in the Farside ™ pub/lounge on campus with lots of laughing and getting to know each one another. Strangely, we found that our families were entwined with one another's. He grew up 600km away from me and we've never met before our history classes together, but… please remain seated for this explanation, with all arms inside the cabin area... my grandmother's cousin's daughter married his mom's brother. It's funny just how small the world *really* is.
The occasional coffee turned into long phone conversations where no subject was left sacred and just enjoying each other's company. I had no idea that during this time his feelings for me had turned into something a bit more than what I had expected. We would hang out sometimes with my group of friends, he didn't have any friends, that I knew of, anyway. ("Group dating" I think they call it.) Sometimes we'd go out for coffee @ night and chat until wee hours in the morning. Good times. He bought a Dalmatian puppy that spring. He named it something in Klingon. I sympathized with the puppy. ;)
Okay, Kevin was an avid fan of the soap opera "Another World" (what can I say, I attract interesting sorts of people). He heard, one day, that the character "Cass Winthrop" was going to be at some grand opening somewhere in the city. "Well!!? Do you wanna go with me?" I looked around to make sure he was speaking to ME. "Uhhh, ok." And uhhh, we went. He bought me a huge, yellow, stuffed bunny rabbit with giant floppy ears and some chocolate. My Easter present. ("I thought you were JW?") So, we get to this three-ring circus event. And he is g-l-o-w-i-n-g, glowing. I thought it was rather sweet and endearing and in the other sense, I also thought it was a bit creepy. But he was having a fabulous time. Now, the funniest thing happened. All week, women (I say women, b/c about 99.9% of the pushing and shoving that was happening around me in the crowd was by over-hormonized middle-aged, fantasy-riddled stay@homes) had been putting their names into this glass drum in the hopes of having it drawn and chosen to have a wine & cheese afternoon with the "star" of the soap opera. Ten lucky winners and a guest would be escorted to the lounge of the newly built shopping centre and have a private one-on-twenty time with… errr "Cass". (Honestly, I don't know his real name. But I remember the name Cass. Maybe b/c it reminded me of porn star) The 9th name to be drawn was his. Eyes wide and positively beaming, just as though he was just handed the Emmy award for "best fan", he made his way through the seething, estrogen-intoxicated crowd.
"Cass" says into the mic. "I think you forgot your girlfriend!"
I'm like "Oh! Nooooo. N-n-n-nooo, I'm not his…"
Kevin motions me to follow him and says "Oh yah! C'mon!"
We head up to the lounge with the other lucky contest winners and I said "How many times did you put your name into that glass drum?" He says "Just once." Suuuuuure! We had a lovely time visiting with said soap opera legend. And like me, he is intrigued by the fact that my "boyfriend" is wearing this tie. That day's tie was a Looney Toons-special. Kevin traded his tie for "Cass'" sunglasses -a lovely pair of RayBan's, I might add- with the promise that "Cass" will wear the tie on the soap opera one day. Done. And I am not shitting you, a few month's later (I was spying on the show to see if he would keep his word) I saw Kevin's tie around that guy's neck. It made me smile. I digress.
The year was beginning to draw to its close and from here we would settle on the universities of our choice. My application had been sent to the U of Alberta and the U of Calgary and he only applied to the U of Lethbridge. My decision to apply to the two schools was more of a CYA strategy. My school of choice was the U of Calgary! I had been DREAMING of going to the U of C since I was in 9th grade. Mostly, I think, b/c it was one of the furthest universities away from "home" w/o being out of province or out of recognition status. My summer employment would take me to Calgary and Kevin's back to Edson. We both worked as summer students in the oil & gas industry. I didn't realize @ the time that he was disappointed that I didn't apply to Lethbridge. But, well… I am kind of clueless when it comes to boys. We wrote letters over the summer to each other. Yes, he had the handwriting of a serial killer. A very neat serial killer. His would always end with "Love, Kevin", which I thought was a bit sweet. Still clueless. In early August the "kicker" letter arrived. "By the way, I wanted to let you know that I applied to the U of C at the last possible moment and just received my acceptance letter in the mail this week. How exciting that we'll be going to the same school. You'll have to send me your class schedule and see if we'll be registered in some same classes."
Oy vey! I felt horrible. As some of you may know, I'm *slightly* flakey. But back then, I was rather reckless with my decisions and a bit whimsical. I had received my acceptance letters from both universities. I had pre-registered with the U of C and had already arranged my class schedule. I didn't even look into the U of A's class schedule or course offerings... but one day I was bored @ lunch and flipped through their Faculty of History catalogue and saw some brilliant and intriguing classes. The more I read, the more skeptical I became of my first choice. Was the U of C important to me just b/c of geography? I made some inquiries to my financial granting officer and then to the U of A. I had only a few days left to follow up with them before I could register my classes. Panicking, I made my phone calls and realized that I could easily alter my school of choice. There were a billion other details to worry about but I felt very strongly that I was making the right decision. I didn't know that my decision would affect my life SO much, and I didn't know how much it would affect others' as well.
Segue back to the letter and my feeling of utter disappointment. Would I have changed my mind and remained @ the U of C if Kevin had told me he had applied there? Probably not. As whimsical as I can be, I can also be just as stubborn and narrow-minded once I get an idea in my head. Besides, how was I to know, until that very moment, that there may have been more feelings from him towards me. Who was I, that someone would change their own directions in order to follow? Until that moment I hadn't realized how much he cared for me. I wrote back and apologized. I feared he would be angry with me or worse, he would never speak to me again. I told him that I had planned my life and my entire college course options specifically for the U of C but at the last moment, like him, I had become tempted by another university. He wrote back and told me he understood. That he was happy for me and that although he was disappointed, he was happy that I was excited about going to the U of A. He then called me before I left Calgary to move up to university in Edmonton. "I'm really sad that we're not going to the same school." "I am too. But we'll keep in touch, write letters, call and maybe even drop in on each other once in a while." "True." And we did. We called each other quite a bit. He wrote me funny letters filled with his silly ideas. "We'll marry rich people, both you and I. I'll find me a sugar-momma and you find yourself a sugar-daddy, but we'll secretly have each other" He was a bit silly that way.
We hung out on New Years Eve that year. I drove down to Calgary with a group of friends and we celebrated "First Night" on the downtown streets of Calgary. He drove me back to my cousin's house and we sat around and talked on the couch while he rubbed my feet. We played this D&D trivia game with my cousin and his now-wife and lost by an obscene amount of points.
Mid-spring he was going back to school in Calgary for final exams after visiting with his family and called me. "I'm 45 minutes from your house, will you be home this evening?" "Of course, come on over!!" We sat and visited. I still remember the way he was looking at me. I still remember as he hugged me goodbye, the way his hand felt as he ran it through my hair. And how that day, he wasn't wear a tie.
He continued to write me letters. But they got shorter and shorter. Less personal. Indeed, more distant and unfocused. I asked him several times. "Kevin? Is everything alright?" He would say "Yes, everything is fine." Of course, I didn't believe him. How many more times could I have asked? Many many more, I tell myself. Many more. Until you get the right answer? No, until you get an honest answer. What a terrible friend I was. "I just miss you" he would say, or "I'm just a bit lonely."
I went home for Christmas holiday for about 2 weeks that year. One afternoon, I answered the phone and it was one of my Mum's closest friends. I was ready to pass her off to my Mum when she said "No hunny, I called to talk to you." I was a bit confused. "Oh? What's up?" She says "Do know Kevin (insert last name here)?" "Oh yes!! Yah, I do!" "I'm sorry to tell you hunny, but Kevin died last night." I dropped the phone and fell to my knees. Completely numb. My mum rushed over to me, she picked up the phone and asked Brenda what had happened, if everything was ok. I could hear the echo of her voice in my head but I couldn't connect the words together, my mind was spinning into a vortex of shock. Kevin? Not my Kevin. Surely she has the wrong person. No. She's wrong. It's someone else, for sure. I sat on the floor shaking. How? That's the question that was screaming in my mind. How did this happen? Where? Was he driving back to Edson for holiday and got into an accident? Was he struck by another car? What had happened? No. This wasn't my Kevin.
I took the phone from my Mum, "Brenda, what happened?" I asked her, my voice shaking and barely recognizable. "He took his own life, sweetie." Tears began streaming down my face.
No, no you didn't!! You didn't do it, Kevin!! How could you? Why would you? Where did you go?
NO! I can't believe it. I won't believe it.
"But… I don't understand, Brenda." Now, my body convulsing into heaving sobs.
My mother took the phone from my hands and asked her to call back in a few minutes.
Not my Kevin.
Why?
Later, in another conversation with her I would find out that he died from self-inflicted carbon monoxide poisoning. Apparently he used his car for his final resting place. Then, I was started to get mad.
Why? Why when I asked you did you not tell me?
His mother asked Brenda to contact me. Apparently he talked about me a lot and they had found my name in his papers. They found our letters. And they also knew that Brenda could get in contact with me as she lived in my home-town. Another odd sort of connection we had was that his mother's cousin was Brenda, Brenda is one of my Mum's closest friends, but whether they knew exactly *how* close the connection really was, I don’t know.
His funeral was to be just before Christmas. His family didn’t expect me to be there. The traveling conditions in northern Canada in the winter are horrendous and they didn't want me to travel in such weather. I regret not going. I regret not saying a proper goodbye. I regret a lot of things. What if I asked him one more time, would that be the time when he would have told me the truth about what was going through his mind? That maybe things were less than "fine". What could I have done differently to let him know how much I cared? Would that have made a difference?
All I know is that I miss you, dammit. And whenever I think of you sometimes all I can do is just cry b/c there's so much more that I wish I could have said to you. I wish you could have known exactly how much you meant to me and that even these long, long years later how much you being gone hurts me. And I'm angry. Why wouldn't you tell me? Why wouldn't you just answer me? Why didn't you talk to me. And I know this is selfish, but what you did was selfish too, dammit! You left without saying goodbye to me. You left without letting me finish my sentences. You left. And I don't know if it's you that I can't forgive or if it's me. I wanted more time, but you didn't allow me any. I wanted to know more of you, but you're no longer here. I wanted to tell you so much more than what I ever did. I just want to be able to finish the many conversations we didn't start...
