RECIPE FOR ASSHOLE

When they called on me to write your tribute, I froze. Forgive me. I never thought I would employ words that played around me with abandon in weaving a dirge of appellations for you while you sit invisible by me, avoiding yourself made up and stuffed in that sorry box. They asked me to, and I froze.

This is a pretty fucked up world we live in right? You were waving your graduation hat above your stupid grin and bad eyesight, beaming at 3 cameras; mine, your mom’s and the girlfriend I disliked just a month ago. You were happy at noon that day and by sundown you were wincing in the backseat of a wailing taxi, weaving through rush hour traffic to the nearest hospital, where the emergency room nurses were busy following OPD procedures. Who trains those people? I would have asked you remind me to donate a dictionary to every single Emergency room here in the capital and beyond, with the page defining Emergency bookmarked. Someone should teach them…but they said ghosts only watch and sigh, they do not speak…they do not.

By midnight you were gone. Aren’t you an asshole for giving up so quickly? Who dies from malaria anyway? I could have written the damned tribute, but I went pale, then stiff, then so, so cold. I froze. Forgive me.

Later, when I found out, an early IV infusion would have brought you right back to us, I seethed with rage. I should buy those dictionaries, pocket ones perhaps? For every goddamned nurse in every bloody emergency unit, O Lord give me strength, I could burn that one down! They killed you…they…aren’t they assholes? A bunch of…

A Beginner’s Guide to Writing Tributes.

There was nothing like that or closely related to that when I passed through seven bookshops on my way home the day they asked me. I cannot write you on your journey where more assholes call home. Home cannot be where I am not. I cannot, I cannot.

This bench is so hard, my buttocks hurts, or maybe I am too skinny?

Your mother has been bent over the body, wetting your face with her tears and phlegm, and spit, and sweat. I don’t blame her.

I must be an asshole too. I froze. I just froze.

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