Elsewhere

Dedicated to Sean Cassidy.

The day that I was hit by the minivan was the day that Sean was transferred to our department. He later recalled affectionately that day that he started the day that I was put into emergency.

It was August 2004, the tenth I believe. The details of my accident, all too familiar with anyone that has been hit while riding a bike or come close will recognize the symptoms. Motorist with coffee in one hand, smoke in the other, rolling stop past the curb, cyclist riding on the sidewalk, bushes and fences covering the view of the corner. I was lucky to escape with my life that morning.

Cassidy was quiet and intelligent. We sparked up an instant connection. He, possessing two degrees one in film and the other in history was an able debating companion. There were many conversations regarding aspects of our job or our co workers as well as films, wars, video games, comics. I was a geek and Cassidy was too. It always made the day travel quickly to know that he would be working at the same time. The job had its grind but the friendship that we had developed was anything but.

There was talk of working on a project together, a film script or a graphic novel. It was difficult to fantasize about these things but never have them develop. Our time outside of work was too hectic, I was still finishing school and was more or less single, while he had a fiancée and a life apart in Oakville at the time. We would analyze instead. I had been down the, “lets start a project together” road before and found that it only made things difficult for future musings. Some things were better left un-said so the project went away. Time would pass and I eventually moved on. I left and he stayed. Moving from one department to another. It is safe to say at this point that I lost touch. It wasn’t that I had any intention of leaving anyone in the past. I had no recent number and had since developed a sort of phobia of visiting our place of employment. I had felt that that place was slightly cursed and had no intention of going back.

Though days, weeks, years pass my thoughts would drift to our friendship and I would wonder. In my mind I was always comforted by the fact that he is the type of person who always had friends around, people that would keep him company, and like other friends of mine who had gotten married, started a family and a home would be busy none the less with their own lives. I was comforted by the fact that they would have “no time” for me and that things were simply fine the way they were.

Looking back on this rationalization I know it was false, that any of this could be true if things were different, but they aren’t. And now I know that these types of rationalizations were something else, something where I wasn’t able to connect, I always wanted to visit and had decided many times that I would go, to this day I drive by my old work, on my way elsewhere usually with time to spare. I knew where I could park without paying, where I could walk over and see how he was doing, ask him about his family. I could have him paged if I couldn’t locate him. But I didn’t. Now all I have left are pieces, little memories, fond but fragments, used photocopies that will never be colour, never fresh.

The only option I have now is to hang on to them as tightly as possible, rework them, add some colour and hope that the copy lasts. Although he may be elsewhere now, I am here and thinking about him, remembering him and trying to cope with a sudden loss that will never make sense.