When I was in highschool, a mere 7 years ago, I dated a boy named Andy for a few months. After we broke up, we remained good friends until he moved to florida about a year after meeting.
Andy had a little brother named Bobby, who I dubbed “little Bobby,” despite him only being a few months younger than me.
Bobby died two days ago. Hit by a car while walking home. No alcohol involved, no nothing, “just one of those things,” I’m told.
These are my memories of Bobby:
He was 15 years old when I met him the first time. He had long brown hair and a dyed blue streak in the front that had faded to mildew green. I told him he looked mexican.
We went to atlantic city and he said he had a flashback, telling us that it was caused by scabs on his spine that break off. We made fun of him. We walked along the boardwalk; I kept bumping into him and apologizing. He yelled at me for saying sorry too much.
We were drinking beer in my old apartment; I took a picture of him deep throating a bottle. I wish I still had it.
We went to old country buffet. He flipped out at Andy for no reason and stormed out of the place. Later we went to the pet store; he bought tubing to make some kind of bong out of.
We smoked cigarettes near a tree out front of out school.
We spent hours sanding grafitti off the chairs in the theatre for stage crew. He told me mean things Andy said about me, I cried in the bathroom.
Eventually he moved to Florida too. I last saw him 6 years ago.
Despite the fact that I KNOW we spent a lot of time together and had a lot of good times, these are my only memories of Bobby. And these will be my only memories of Bobby, ever.
Aside from occasional thoughts and my attempts to tell Andy to tell him “hi” for me (when Andy told me of his death, he included, “sorry, I never did tell him hi for you”), Bobby hasn’t existed to me for a long time. He is a faded memory. He will never exist to me again, and his memory will only continue to fade.
And yet I feel like shit. I feel like shit because he’s fucking dead, and I feel like shit because I don’t feel shitty enough over it. I feel like shit because he had a 4 year old kid, who looked just like him, and will never really know him. I feel like shit because one of my best friends is devastated over this. I just feel like shit.
Goodbye, little Bobby.