It’s that time again. Every November I pause and wonder why an ex-boyfriend of mine persistently pops into my head. Then I remember that he died November 27th, 1998. Then I remember that every November his ghost drifts around to hang out on my shoulder, whispering memories in my ear: …remember how i was the vegetarian who hated vegetables? … remember the shirt i was wearing night we met? … remember that tattoo i gave you? …remember how i told you not to trust that roommate who ended up being bad news? …. remember the coal chute I slept in? ….remember the feeling? … remember the bleeding? …kid, do you remember? …

I remember a conversation we had over and over:
“I’m tired,” I’d complain around 5am during some raucous debaucherous night/morning. He would look at me.
“You ARE tired,” he would tease, using the word as an acrid insult.

I remember my anger when he died:
All my friends tip-toeing around me, reassuring me that they’d be there when the sadness hit. It never really did. I wrote a short anonymous essay for The Stranger and that pretty much summed up my feelings. Still does, really, although the anger has faded and, as I reach the age he was when he died, the pity begins.

As I write this, I received an email from a friend who was dated him when I did (long story). She reminds me that he would be 30 this year. He’s frozen at 27 for me, although his children continue to age. How old are they now? 10 and 7? They live with their mother. I heard they moved back to Florida. I wonder how well they will remember their father?

Today as Andreas and I walked to get some coffee, we walked behind a hospital where John once tried to teach me how to skateboard. It was a thankless task, trying to teach a 22 year old klutz to skate, but John gave it a try and we had fun as I went around in circles, trying not to fall over.

As Dre and I walked past the spot, I could see John trying to show off an “acid drop” on his board, and twisting his ankle pretty badly as he landed. I could see him realize that he was aging. He stood on the skateboard with one foot and held on to my shoulder as I walked back to the apartment, pulling him behind me. Pulling him behind me.