Mr. Pearly Whites

I once had a friend who had the most good looking set of teeth that I've ever seen. For a time I even called him "pearly whites." He was a good guitar player, he draws really well, a bit shy, and when he laughed, it was precious. There was a time in my life that I would leave my computer on with my Yahoo Messenger logged in until I would wake up in the morning, around 3 or 4am because he would buzz me. We would always talk in an ungodly hour. It seemed like he would always had a hard time sleeping. We would chat about almost everything: music, bananas, his teeth, why am I awake, him craving for corned beef, him talking to his friend Mr. Snuffleupagus which worried me a bit and told him to end that joke. This went on for about a month, sacrificing my sleep just so I could talk to him because at the back of my head I knew that something was amiss. 


I was his friend. 
I worried. 

Although we never really talked about anything that serious concerning our lives, sometimes it was evident that he was sad and bothered. 


One of the fondest times that I've spent with him was during an event at Eastwood. He had a bottle of lapad that he would put in his jeans pocket and we would take a swig from it from time to time while walking under a drizzle. It was fun.

I remember a weekend, his band was a guest in this radio show where they played live. We talked the day before that guesting and scheduled that we would meet. I was going to give him a CD of all the Jeff Buckley videos that I've downloaded, and in return, he was going to give me a Blind Melon Live at Woodstock video. We both loved these artists, and I still do. Unfortunately, I had to cancel meeting him last minute because....hhhmmm...I don't even remember. He said that it was OK and that we could just swap CDs some other time. We said our good byes. And that was that. 

It was the last conversation that I had with him. 

A few days after that, I found out that he killed himself. 

I was broken for months. You know that feeling that you just don't want to do anything but sleep and wake up hoping that things were just the way they were? No emotions. No heavy feelings. No deaths. 

That pang of guilt also sneaked it. What if I just showed up? What if he really wanted to talk? Why didn't I made myself available to him? All the whys, all the what ifs I entertained and it consumed me. I went to his wake, with my CD of Jeff Buckley videos. I placed it on top of his casket and said sorry that I cancelled on him, sorry that I wasn't able to give his CD and sorry I wasn't there. After awhile I've already forgiven myself. It took a bit of time but I have moved on since but still, I would remember his smile. 

I woke up today with him on my mind. He's been physically gone for 8 years this July and I am missing him.