Jim and I

A Short Story

[Author’s Note: This short story was originally published on 19 October 2011 via Facebook’s Notes feature.]

It was May 23, 1989, about 2:30. I didn’t know it, but I got off the bus one block before my best friend got on.

We complemented each other quite well. We did just about everything together, Jim and I, and we knew each other’s thoughts sometimes before they were even vocalized. We liked most of the same sports teams, though he was a Red Sox fan and I loved the Yankees. I was there when his dad died. I helped him bury him because his mother had died years ago. I was the best man at his wedding. I threw him one helluva party but made sure he didn’t get into any trouble with the three strippers I hired. He was always trying to hook me up with his wife’s girlfriends. He said I needed to settle down but I liked the life of a bachelor.

Jim liked to go fishing in the river not too far from our little suburb. I went with him all the time but neither of us ever caught much. We like the seclusion. Once a year we took a trip out to Colorado. We were supposed to be hunting, but we mostly just sat around in the cabin. It was a good excuse to get away from the city and drink beer.

I got a girl pregnant. Jim said I should do the right thing. He was right. The mother was a woman I’d met in a bar. She was a beautiful little thing going to school for astronomy. She didn’t love me. I didn’t love her. But I was there when she gave birth to my daughter, Izalia. She picked out the name. I asked if she’d be okay if Jim were the godfather. She said that was alright.

This guy turned into a single dad. The astronomy major didn’t want Izalia after all. She wanted to finish her degree. I never heard from her again. Jim helped me get my bearings. He helped me become a good father. In return, I helped Jim build the deck on his house that he always wanted, but he said I didn’t owe him anything.

Jim and Mollie tried to have kids. They even had a couple of misfires. But pregnancy never took. We drank a lot of wine sometimes afterwards. Once I drove Jim home after he got really drunk and depressed and I stayed with him on the couch and cleaned up his puke. Mollie was up north seeing her parents. It was hard times for Jim and Mollie.

Izalia grew up and met a man. She wanted to get married. I wasn’t so sure. But Jim said, “Frank, old boy, she’s a grown woman and he’s a good man. He’ll treat her well.” So Izalia got married. I gave her away with my best friend and her godfather by my side. It was the happiest day of our lives. That is until Frank the Second was born. Jim was there for that too. Izalia always used to say that she was glad that she had two daddies. I think I was too.

One day years later Jim called and asked me to take him to the doctor’s office. Said he was feeling sick. So I drove him and waited in the waiting room reading “Better Homes and Gardens.” Turns out Jim had cancer. A nasty kind. We went out and got roaring drunk and got into a fight with some twenty-somethings from Rhode Island. Got ourselves arrested too. Mollie came down and bailed us out. Then, of course, she cried. Jim hugged her and I hugged them.

Jim had chemo and a bunch of surgery but kept getting sicker and sicker. But I was there with him. Every single day. He got so bad. He asked me to kill him but I told him I couldn’t do it and he said that he understood. I think he was relieved that I wouldn’t.

He slipped away one fine spring morning and I was there with him, holding his hand.

I admit I wasn’t myself after that. It felt like a piece of me had died too. I think it did. I never righted the ship again. I went from being alive to just, well, just existing I guess.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Way, way ahead, actually. He got on the bus one block after I got off back in 1989. Jim and I were friends never met. But I can’t help but wonder what might have been had I stayed on just a bit longer.