His laugh.
God he sounds just like Drew.
I've been staring at him, studying his mannerisms, the way he moves, how he speaks. Vida's been carrying the conversation, her and Jack have hit it off not that I'm surprised.
"Do you play any sports?" Vida asks him.
He grins, "I'm not any good at any of them but yeah. I ran track, played football and basketball."
His eyes meet mine when he says basketball.
"Drew..." his name catches in my throat and I glance to Julia, "was my captain in high school." It's the first real thing I've added to the conversation.
"He was?" Jack's entire demeanor shifts, going from relaxed and easy going to rapt attention in seconds. His blue eyes are wide, like he's trying to soak in every little thing I might have to say. "Was he good?"
Drew was decent at basketball. A versatile player, he never had a position that he really excelled in, rather a competent ability to play all positions decent enough. He was a court player rather than a street player but he improved a little while we were still in highschool. When he started coming to the park with Birdie and I.
"He was good." I'm not about to tell him Drew was just okay at basketball, I don't want to do anything to lessen Drew in his mind.
Julia snorts. "He was mediocre at best and he knew it, don't worry Holt."
A smile splits Jack's face and instantly a memory of Drew forms in my head. It was one of the last times we played basketball together. I had come up for a visit. He had his own apartment. It was messy and barely furnished, lacking warmth and any sort of love and I realized standing there as he made light of the moment that it didn't matter if Drew was in an apartment or still at a hospital, he had tried to kill himself. He had wanted to. Still wanted to? I could barely ask myself the question in my head at the time.
But as always Drew pulled a mask down over his face, laughing and quick with a smile as we played ball at our old court and some kids stopped to ask for an autograph.
Drew had called me his hero that day. But I can't help but feel like he was more my hero than I was his.
"Did you guys play even after high school?" Jack asks me.
Not as much as I wish we did. We played a ton during college but as soon as we graduated Drew moved to be with Jaelyn and I went to Chicago. I'd like to say we tried but looking back I could have tried harder. I should have gone to see him.
"A little." I tell him, my eyes dropping to the floor beneath us.
Julia's apartment is decorated smartly, all Charley's doing. She's a lot like Drew in the sense that most material things hold little importance to her. Drew had told me at one point that being able to have whatever he wanted made everything shine a little less. Nothing held any excitement or anticipation when it was so easy to acquire.
"Life got busy." I mutter, unable to look Julia or Jack in the eyes.
It's a poor excuse, a bad one.
Vida reaches for my arm, her fingers squeezing gently.
"Julia's told me some, but.." Jack hesitates, sucking in a breath. "What was he like?"
The room is quiet, waiting for me to answer. I wish it was that easy but I already know I don't have the right words to describe Drew. But I can hear the longing in Jack's voice, the way he sits so still, riveted, so he doesn't miss a word. He's captivated by even the small pieces of Drew that any of us have to share.
I haven't the slightest clue where to start but I swallow down the lump that's been sitting in my throat and say, "He was messy. He made mistakes. But he was patient, understanding, reliable and giving." My eyes blur with tears, my focus on the rug that sits beneath the coffee table. A backpack at the edge of the couch, a small stack of clothes folded perfectly beside it. There's a notebook though, a black spiral bound notebook and it sits on the bottom shelf of the coffee table. Mo had a notebook like that, that he took from Drew's apartment. He said it was for Drew's therapy homework. There were only two pages filled out, two small, short lists. "He was my best friend."
My name was on one of those lists. 100 reasons to wake up. He had only managed to come up with four.
"He was the first male I knew I could trust." I whisper it, my voice trembling.
Vida snuggles herself closer to my side, a mess of loose blond curls spilling over my hoodie as she leans her head on my shoulder.
I can't stop the memories as they play in my head like a well loved piece of film. Stills procured over a handful of years, that have faded at the edges and the sound is no longer there but it doesn't lessen the image. A thousand easy smiles to calm me when I was scared, his arm over my shoulder regardless of my reaction, amusement in his eyes when I finally laughed, sitting beside me countless times as he talked me through panic attacks, yelling at the top of our lungs as we rode roller coasters, sneaking through the dorms at night to prank friends, hours upon hours of Mario kart and endless fist bumps.
There aren't enough of them.
