My friend Chase.

I am going to see Chase tomorrow. Update. He got into a car accident about three weeks ago. He's been in a coma and progressing slowly. He's starting to wake up. I get to see him tomorrow for the first time. 

I can't tell if it's fear or peace; if it's lack of struggle or God-given resolve. I wasn't terrified and I wasn't numb. I was pained but resting in a lack of control, which is an odd place to doze. I'm still trying to discover if distraction can be good. Until late, it's been my resilient response. I have to fight to not fall into incessant distraction; it doesn't help being easily bored and easily excited. 

But then, when the crowd dissipates and I find myself in a world of solidarity, of which I am capable of retreat even while surrounded, a whole realm of thought attacks the unconscious of experience.

 

But what I am finding seems surprising, specifically in this situation. I am finding that I'm not angry, but curious. I'm not exhausted or nervous. I'm not scared and I'm not negligent. 

Part of me wonders what will be best, but my wonder isn't nullified by the term: fear. It's not fear. 

I feel disconnected.

But not absent.

 

He's starting to wake up.

I wonder if he'll want to wake up. 

Is it selfish to pray that he does? 

Is it morbid to hope he doesn't?

There's this tension of believing and trusting the potential best and of desiring the rekindling of a friendship. 

But of what use are guesses or thoughts? The only thing that can heal right now is him. Everyone else seems left in an array of clouded thought, patience. 

Part of me is scared to see him.

There were times before that I saw his life passing...when my brother and him were dared, by myself, to jump off the bridge right before Branson. I should have known before the words were released that, of course, they would jump. And they did. It was then, when their foot left the balcony of the lake that I forsook my own Huckleberry Finn creation. 

But not now. Not now. There were moments before that I saw his life passing, but not now. And there are these saline drops of emotional perspiration because now is a question mark...spelled with uncertainty...but I think he's improving...

I keep seeing these images of him. In random places. I keep remembering these conversations and consolations. Simple memories. These little encounters that led to this dear friendship. I remember the runs. The twenty four hours at Starbucks. The painful exams and soda challenge. I remember the conversation of earned trust. You tube videos. Duct taped doors and his dirty room. Cardinals games and winded drives to Katy's. Road trips to Kamp. Bridge jumps. I keep remembering Kirkwood Farmer's Market and spilled drinks in the car. The concert. The dancing. The basketball game. The K-life skit. Cookie dough runs. Movies. My cowlick cream. I remember the conversation on the porch at Rollins, and the talk after the walk to next door. The conversations. The calls. Honesty. Integrity. Loyalty. Forgiveness. And some more forgiveness. 

I remember the other stuff too. It wasn't always pretty. But it was always honest. He's so honest. 

I hope these past terms of language will become present terms of reality. 

I hope it's not now.