David

The door opened.

He was holding his portable oxygen machine under one arm. It was the first time I’d seen him with his breathing tubes in.

“Hey, man!” I said as brightly as I could. Then I noticed his mother standing grimly behind him.

“David can only stay three hours,” she said.

“Mom, she knows,” David said, rolling his eyes for my benefit.

“We’re all here, come in! Let’s start the movie!” I said, smiling at them both.

She told me that she needed to speak with me a moment.

David eased by me, I gently grabbed his arm and pulled him in for a quasi-hug.

“Go on in, I’ll be right there,” I said.

He gave me the look that said, “She’s unbelievable!”

“What do you need, Mrs. Cotton?” I asked her. She was my height and prim in her ironed jeans, and a purse that matched her shoes. She was working hard to keep it all together, but in her eyes, I could see tears.

“You two are such good friends,” she said, looking me square in the face. “I want you to know how much his father and I appreciate that, but he really can’t stay long.”

“I understand,” I said. “What if I drive him home? I promise to have him back at your house by 4.”

She looked away, considering my offer. “Yes, that would be fine,” she said.

“Okay, bye,” I said.

I never knew what lupus was until David told me that he had it, as he was explaining to me that his face was puffy because of the medication he took. It also made his face red.

“It’s called lupus because it’s like a wolf eating me from the inside out,” he said, during one of our nightly phone calls.

He’d begun to help me pass geometry after seeing me struggle in class. Once we were done with theorems, we’d recap what had happened to us each day, so I knew he went to the doctor a lot, but I didn’t know why.

I twirled the phone cord as I groped for the right way to respond.

“Wow. Does it hurt?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” he said.

The truth is I had no idea how David’s illness and eventual death at age 19 would impact me.

He convinced me to focus on friendships and experiences versus preparing for a future that may not come.

What would his wife have been like? I know he would have loved to have been a father. How many kids would he have had?

Two years ago, I saw David’s mother for the first time since David’s funeral, at the memorial for a mutual family friend.

“I think about David all the time,” I choked out. She squeezed my hand before I had to go sit in the back, overcome with renewed grief.