My Oma, my grandmother told me that the best friendships often start with a quarrel. She said there’s a closeness that comes from a good healthy fight that you can’t get any other way, and I think it must be true. Look at CM and me. Our friendship started with a fistfight and twenty-two years later it’s still going strong. The friendship, I mean.

I just don’t know what’s going on here, and when I’m uncomfortable, I get a bit... edgy.

His expression I remember from the first time I met him. Open, direct. But no longer anonymous. I know certain telling details now. Like he can’t stand his brother and he gets one haircut a year. He likes Raymond Chandler and John Irving, Wallce Stegner and Joan Didion. That he loves the blues and songs that tell stories. Riding the ferries just to be on water. His favorite flavor is caramel.

After he died, people would always say to me, “At least you have Wyn”. She touches my arm. “But I didn’t. There wasn’t much left of you. And what there was, you weren’t willing to share with me.