The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.24 Keith's Journal - Richard is Dead

June 6, 10:28 am

It's been four days. And other than a few lines I jotted when I got out of the shower this morning, this is the first time I've picked up this journal since the night it happened.

10:40 am

And it's now been ten minutes since I wrote that.

I've been staring at the blank page, trying to decide whether I'm ready to write anything at all. Maybe it's too soon to try.

I know for sure I'm not ready to write about the night it happened.

For years I've always run to these pages to pour out my heart about any little thing, big or small. If Richard and I had a fight, I came here. If something cool happened at work, I wrote it down here. This journal has been both friend and confessor for so long that it feels weird that now, after the biggest horror of my life, I can barely bring myself to write the words. But I know I have to.

Richard is dead.

Richard is dead.

Richard is dead.

11:15 am

It's been another half hour.

I feel strangely detached, looking at those words. It's like my mind has checked out and has decided to just pretend that I don't know the meaning of the word "dead." The black ink on the white page might as well be in Richard's beloved Sanskrit.

Talking isn't any better than writing.

Michelle and I have hardly been out of each other's sight for the last three and a half days. I finally got her to let me stay here alone last night, but she's back this morning, and we've been talking for the last few hours. I love Michelle, but at this point, we're just caught in some kind of sick feedback loop. And I'm kind of talked out. I told her I needed some time for myself, so she's watching TV downstairs.

Anyway, Pil will be here this afternoon, and I'm looking forward to seeing him. Right now, he's the only anchor either of us has.

And the truth is, I'm not sure I can talk about all this to Michelle anymore. At least, not for a while. She loves me, but she never warmed up to Richard, and only tolerated him for my sake. She never understood him, or why being with him made me so happy. So how can she possibly understand what losing him means?

Every relationship is a mystery. Even to the people in it. And if it is a black box to those in it, then it's no wonder that outsiders really have no clue.

Our friend Andre once told me he thought Richard and I were the happiest couple on Earth. He said that we had a reputation among our friends of being a perfect match. Which made me laugh. He and Max have been together since before I was born, and for him to say that really made me think how little people know.

It's true that Richard and I seldom fought, and never in public. We never indulged in any of the petty digs that couples often make at each other at parties. So I'm sure we looked perfect. But even the best of relationships have some rocky patches, and Richard and I had our share. Especially in those early years.

It wasn't that passion or love was ever lacking between us. In fact, just the opposite. Our connection was deep and powerful, right from the start, and that never dimmed. But there was a quarter-century of age difference between us, and anybody that thinks intergenerational relationships are easy has never been in one. As much as I've always been attracted to older guys, and as much as Richard loved his cubs, the difference in our ages... caused us problems.