An Inconvenient Death

My friend Harold died today.

It made me sad.

I have other friends.

But Harold was the best damn excuse a man could ever hope for.

I don’t want to say his death was a selfish act. But, with wedding season right around the corner, it was pretty fucking inconvenient.

“Dinner tonight?”

“Can’t. Going to go see Harry.”

“Ah. Ok. Good. Good.”

Accompanied with a look of understanding, empathy, and a thin crust of discomfort.

Harry.

The guy in the wheelchair.

The guy with MS.

The guy who couldn't use his arms.

Disability my ass!

He had the ability to get me out of anything.

I hadn’t been to a wedding or bar mitsvah in twenty years!

Can’t

Going to hang with Harry.

We sat in front of the tv and watched the hockey game. The baseball game. The basketball game. Every 30 minutes I would bring him his cup of water and straw. He would drink.

I would say “Good?”

And he would say “Good.”

And we would watch the game in peace while the rest of the world made small talk with morons in germ infested halls.

Then he had to go and die.

Very inconvenient.

Sometimes we would order dinner. There’s this kosher middle eastern place on Eglinton that delivered with Uber. Chicken and rice and eggplant and salad and humous. He would want a little of everything in every mouthful. Then, as my trembling hand made its way to his mouth, he would summon the strength to say “more humous.”

“If you choke, you know I'm not going to save you.”

And he would say “I know.”

“If you die I'm going to tell everyone your final words were “more humous.”

He would then mumble something and I would bend over and ask him to repeat it.

It was always worst in the evenings.

A big breath.

“I'm ok with that.”

Then a big smile.

But he didn't choke on the food.

Not on my watch.

When it takes all your strength to spit out a sentence, you tend to save it for the good stuff.

Harry had a lot of good stuff.

The next day, he would always send me an email.

“Thanks for coming over.”

He had a baseball cap that had a laser attached to it. He would point the laser at a keyboard and type, one letter at a time, ‘thanks for coming over’.

We watched some sports while our idiot friends tried to find a parking spot downtown.

Sometimes, there would even be a piece of cake.

Thanks for coming over.

Yeah

Right.

I have never married and have no children.

I have no son I can share my wisdom with.

If you are reading this please heed my words- find yourself a friend in a wheelchair- you’ll never have to go out again.

Don't be greedy. Don't hold out for a Harry. He was one of a kind. Any wheelchair friend will do.

I think he would of liked this story. He was a little dark that way. He read every story I've ever written.

Every one.

Couldn't use his arms.

Read every story.

He didn't like them all. He wasn't shy about telling me.

But he read every one.

He set the bar pretty high for all my two armed friends.

I don't know what I will do without Harry.

His death is such an inconvenience.

He was going to be my excuse to miss Bernie’s son’s wedding.

Can’t go. Going to hang with Harry.

What am I supposed to do?

Dance the horah like some sort of animal?

Now I have to tell Bernie I will be there.

You coming to the wedding?

Ot course I'm coming to the wedding. Where else would I go?

You know, come to think of it, Bernie has a bit of limp.

Perhaps gangrene is in the offing.

One can only hope.

The End