Twenty-eight

“I lay back down on the bed and crossed my arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling as if I expected it have all the answers. Not surprisingly, the ceiling refused to divulge any hints, although I became convinced that it was simply being selfish and keeping them to itself.”

--from “Alpha Team Alpha” by Stephen Hentchel

Dear Stephen,

Happy birthday! I wanted you to know that I was thinking of you on your birthday, even though… well, I won’t even say it. I’ll always be thinking of you on your birthday.

I wasn’t sure of the best way to let you know that. I considered driving to Battle Creek to see you, but it just didn’t feel right. Instead, I spent the weekend doing things that remind me of you. I went to the zoo. I drank a Smirnoff Ice while watching a DVD with the commentary on. (They seem to have stopped making the black cherry Smirnoff, which makes me really sad. I got the new passion fruit kind instead. It’s not as good.) I even went to the Bittersweet bakery. You know, the one you wanted to go to on New Year’s Day that time? It’s pretty awesome in there. Sorry we didn’t go when you wanted to.

I also went for a long run outside, hoping you would come to visit me like you did back in January. I think I might have felt you again on that stretch of the path between Balbo and Monroe. Was it you? Why do you like that spot in particular? I can’t blame you, I suppose, especially on a bright sunny day. The lake sparkles and there are no trees to block the sun.

It was so, so windy while I was running, though. I have to ask: was that your doing? I don’t know why, but I feel like you have some control over the weather. I still think you are responsible for that torrential downpour that V and I drove through on the way to your funeral. I wouldn’t be surprised if that icy, ever gusting wind was your handiwork as well. I know you would find my suffering hilarious. It was you, wasn’t it? Jackass.

I don’t know; maybe thinking you control the weather is my coping mechanism. Maybe it’s not you at all. Maybe it’s just me being a tiny bit crazy. I’m still trying to figure this whole thing out. I don’t really understand where you are. You’re still so real and alive and vibrant in my mind and heart that my brain can’t comprehend the idea that you are not anywhere. You have to be somewhere. I tend to think that the somewhere is above me, in a general sense. I look up to talk to you. And I look to the sky for the weather. So you controlling the weather is something that makes sense to my troubled mind.

What else can you do? Can you internet surf? I hope you’ve been reading your facebook wall. There are so many people that love and miss you, Stephen. The best I can hope is for you to somehow know that. So, I believe you can control the weather, and I’m also choosing to believe that you can read your facebook wall. If that makes me a little crazy, so be it.

I wanted to watch My Fair Lady this weekend. We watched it on VHS that time, and sadly I got rid of all my VHS tapes last summer. So, I had to go looking for the DVD. No luck at Target, no luck at Borders, and no luck at the first Best Buy I visited. What is wrong with these stores? Don’t they know that My Fair Lady is a classic? After some online searching I found a copy at a different Best Buy across town. When I went to pick it up, I found the cutest little coffee shop! So thanks for getting me out into a new neighborhood. I will always think of you when I go into Peet’s Coffee. (Guess what else? The My Fair Lady DVD has an audio commentary! I haven’t watched it yet, but I’ll let you know if it’s good.)

I also put together a badass Lego robot this weekend. It’s no Yoda, but he’ll go on my desk at work and remind me of you every day. He’ll stand right next to my Lego model of Lucius Malfoy accidentally giving Dobby a sock. (Yes, I have one of those. Shut up.) Check him out:

I wish I could call you to wish you a happy birthday. I think I’ve done that every year since the WMU days. I’m trying to remember all your birthdays past, now. The memory of your 20th birthday is a great one. If I’m not mistaken, that’s when we went to see The Core. Surely you remember how we bonded over that movie? “Augh! One is not a prime number! AUUUUGHHH!” Nothing has ever brought us together like bad math.

Well, I take that back. Bad English also brought us together. It was my bad grammar that led to our last phone call. Remember? You just had to point out that I should have said “Me, neither” instead of “Me, either.” I’m glad you did, though. It was so great to talk to you that day. Thank you so, so much for being so impressed that I had run 20 miles that morning and that I would be running a marathon three weeks later. So many people congratulated me, but something about your reaction was so genuine that I will never forget it. You were truly impressed. It won’t be this year, and it may not even be next year, but I promise that someday I’m going to run another for you. And it’ll probably hurt just as badly, so you better damn well be with me every step of the way. I know you will be.

So how do birthdays work, where you are? I bet that you’ve been thinking to yourself this weekend how awesome it is that you get to eternally remain your devastatingly handsome, in-Navy-shape, 27-year-old self. Well, let me just burst that bubble right now. I don’t care what reason and logic say. To me, today you turn 28. And each year on your birthday, I will close my eyes and picture how you would look a year older. Be good, and I promise that you will age gracefully. But if I feel you laughing at me too many times, you may be a candidate for premature baldness and liver spots. You’ve been warned.

I feel like I could talk to you forever, Stephen, but some piece of my heart is telling me that it’s time to end this. Tears are coming to my eyes. So much about this is unfair. You should be celebrating today, feeling what it is like to be 28. You’re 28 on the 28th today. You should be on the phone with everyone you know, gloating over your golden birthday, and insisting that you get to celebrate when it’s your birthday in any time zone. Instead you are… somewhere else. I don’t know where. But somewhere.

I wanted to get you something. I can’t send you the Lego robot, unfortunately, so I thought I’d write you something. I’ve never been much good at fiction (and I wouldn’t want to steal your forte anyway), so I’m trying something different. Here is your birthday Haiku:

Ode to Stephen

Stephen Hentchel was a guy
who I met at Western Mich.
He was a jackass.

Still, he was a friend,
always good for a laugh and
loyal to a fault.

We fought sometimes, too.
Oft in jest, but oft for real,
though never lasting long.

He sat with one knee up,
slept with his head on his arm,
and drove a minivan.

He loved bare necklines.
He made me feel so pretty
like no one else has.

He hugged me so tight
when I saw him the last time.
I’m so grateful now.

Hearts broke when he died
and today we feel his loss
all over again.

Still I am quite sure
that wherever he is now
he is milking this.

And he is with me.
Now and then I feel him laugh.
I love you, Stephen.

I will always be thinking of you, Stephen. Not just on your birthday. You are everywhere I look, and you remain so alive in my memories that most days I have a hard time remembering that you are gone. You are somewhere. I know it. And I’ll never stop wondering where that is and how you are.

I miss you madly, love you deeply, and am with you always.

Also, I hate you. So much.

Hugs, Stephen. Happy birthday. Give ‘em hell, for me.

Katie