What Ever Happened To Him?
Tuesday, October 13th, 2009
I was afraid I knew the answer. Why did I ask the question? I think it was because I wanted to be wrong. I wanted someone to tell me he was alive… and well.
When I met John he was recovering from cancer. We were introduced in a bar and over a few beers, I was told the story of how he almost died. He wasn’t in remission, but John didn’t look “terminally ill” (his skin wasn’t sallow and he still had all his hair) and I figured he must be doing well with his treatment if he was out drinking with friends.
(The wheels were already turning.)
I almost wonder if our friends anticipated how he’d tug at my heartstrings, how I’d want to give him some happiness in whatever way I could, to make up for some of the pain he’d felt and what he had to go through. Maybe that had something to do with why they made certain we became acquainted by leaving us to spend some time alone talking. You see, I have a soft spot for nice guys who deserve a little more female attention than they are used to getting. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I am the Queen Of Pity Fucks, but I cannot deny it has happened before and it will likely happen again. But, I didn’t quite feel sorry for John. I felt more angry that he was cheated out of a portion of his life. I wanted to put things right. I knew what it was like to feel defective, different, defeated, yet still proud you’d made it this far.
As if intense empathy wasn’t enough to spark an attraction, John also made me laugh- out loud, a rapturous, carefree sound accompanied by a genuine wide, toothy grin. (Like so many women, I am a sucker for a witty sense of humour.) In friendly retaliation, I liked to make him blush with my flirtations and
People tell me that before John got cancer he was mean. A few said he could still be pretty spiteful sometimes. I never experienced that. Anything I wanted to do, anywhere I wanted to go, whatever I wanted, John was like a puppy dog. I say that with tenderness, dismay and guilt, because it was eagerness and devotion that drew me to him and that played a part in pushing me away. He adored me when I couldn’t adore myself.
John had a nerdy innocence about him and even though it had clearly endeared me, friends warned me to be careful with him… not necessarily just because he was sick, but because he had so little experience with women and I was known to be, well, a Maneater. And John had enough to deal with. “He didn’t need a broken heart on top of having cancer.“ Sometimes it is hard to hear the echo of that statement in my head. I feel it in my heart too.
I know that our break-up was probably inevitable. (I was in, what I consider to be, my formative years when we met… partying, drinking, fucking, having fun, trying new things. I outgrew the relationship, while he was a point in his life that everything stayed the same for him.) But, I don’t think getting involved with John was a mistake. I like to think that I still gave him a reason to smile, even if only for a while. He certainly made me appreciate the value of having a few close friends as opposed to a lot of acquaintances. John also taught me that “normal” is relative. What ‘happened’ to him is that he became more than I could ask for – an unforgettable part of my life.
John is buried in Crown Hill Cemetery. There is a pilgrimage I have to make.
Rest In Peace
January 11, 2003





























