Before I headed out, I took another look at those photos. There's this one that really stands out. Well, a few do, but one in particular. It's Jody standing at the right of the frame, speaking, deep brown eyes looking off at someone out of the shot to the left. He's wearing the green and white UNM jacket, and his hair's in his eyes. It's some scene I was never a part of, but years later, I'm privy to; what an age we live in... Where was I that day? Did he and I talk later on? Did he tell me about this, and I've forgotten, letting it wash over me almost immediately as just one more day in an endless string of casual meetings that turned out to be not so endless after all? And there he is, so young, so hopeful, full of life, just this handsome American kid I knew who was fated to be murdered by his own body.
I guess murdered's not really the right word. After all, it wasn't malicious. His body didn't consciously set out to kill him. It just happened. One day, a long time ago, some cell in his body made a mistake, and it just snowballed. He couldn't stop it. We couldn't stop it. What would you call that? Criminal negligence causing death? I guess that's the fate of us all. If you live long enough—if no disease or accident claims you first—your body kills you, finally. We're all our own executioner of last resort. Why is that? Why are we designed to get on the planet, reproduce, and get off again? It doesn't seem right to summon us into being just for that. What's the point?
I look at these pictures of Jody and it all comes back to me. The weird feeling of him not being here anymore. I was just remarking to his dad on ICQ... I sure want to talk to him again. It doesn't seem right somehow that that was so simple, such a casual thing on Friday afternoon, and completely impossible Monday morning. How can that be real? Now that I've seen so much more of who he was, I want to talk to him about it. :(
Where'd you go, Jody? Will I see you again someday? I've got so much I want to ask you now, even more than before.
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