Kirk

A few weeks ago, I found out by chance that you had passed away three years ago. It came as a bit of a shock, as I had fully expected one day to run into you at the store or something. More surprising was that I had never found you on social media, even though when we first met (yeah, forty years plus ago) we were both studying computers at the community college. I had fully expected by the 2020s that you would have jumped onto the tech bandwagon.

The fact that we drifted apart could have been blamed on circumstances; You were dealing with fatherhood, I got married and devoted my time to my marriage and moved further away... I was not the only friend who stopped coming around. That same phenomenon happened to me. It is a sad realization that such relationships can pivot so easily. But then, I can also blame myself for not being as attentive as I could have been to stay in touch over the years. That is my failure, and it is too late to rectify the situation.

I can only tell anyone who would take a few moments about my friend. We were roommates, we were friends, we were even co-workers for a time. When we first met, you would invite me over to your house to toke and play acey-deucy. Or rummy. You were good at both, and we would have a good laugh over the table. Later, we had occasion to share a rental house with a couple, Shelly and Kathy. I made sure I didn't have to work on Thursday evenings so we could watch our Next Generation Star Trek. You were as big a Trekkie as I. Hell, your name was Kirk, of which the connection to a certain starship captain was not lost on us. Even though you were half a foot or more taller than Shatner, with a face that resembled more Mick Jagger, it was still a chuckle we could share.

I have to confess here that I was not the friend I could or should have been to you. I struggled with keeping a job and therefore struggled with keeping up my end of the bills. And even with that, you were good enough to take me in a second time in the late '80s. It didn't last very long, but that was my fault. The 1990s saw us begin to drift away from each other, but we were still on friendly terms. It was a pleasant surprise when I took a job at Brody's Pub and discovered by chance that you were working right next door, in the receiving department of K-Mart. It was a pleasure to come out back on break and chit-chat with you. I remember you were considering starting a side hustle by buying a truck and a utility trailer and recycling wood pallets. Even now, whenever I see a trailer stacked sky high with pallets coming down the road, I think of those conversations.

You also spoke a bit about the circumstances regarding you becoming a father. In retrospect, I think you must have wanted that all along. I remember trying to persuade you to 'use protection' when you were dating Lydia, and of course you gave the tired old excuse of 'it's like showering in a raincoat'. But when Lydia suffered from an ectopic pregnancy and nearly died, the shock nearly devastated you. As much as I liked her, I thought the two of you were not going to last. As it turns out, after you left the state with her and after a couple of years, you returned empty-handed (as it were) and heartbroken. I won't elaborate on the details of that situation.

But, I believe you were bitten by the fatherhood bug, and you were going to achieve that goal. I couldn't say whether it was a conscious decision or just a natural consequence of your devil-may-care attitude towards contraception, but it eventually happened. Not under the most ideal conditions, mind you but you became the father of a beautiful baby girl. From what you told me, she was the best thing to happen to you. I said good for you, and I meant it.

More recently, my job required me to work around Madison one day a week. I would go into a few of the grocery stores, and figuring you still lived in the area, I would watch out for you. It's an odd habit I had developed, I think from the years gone by and being nostalgic for the good times with not only friends but also expecting to run into old classmates as well. The latter does actually happen occasionally, as I have kindled friendships with people I was not really friends with back in school but remembering their presence and now enjoy relationships with them. So, I had some expectation to reunite with my old friend and maybe even have a new friendship. But alas, as I read your obituary and saw your bearded, white-haired image, my heart sunk. To my chagrin, I had assumed you would have been as healthy as I, but apparently you had succumbed to lung cancer at the age of 64. I read where you had been interred and I made it my mission to find your headstone and pay my respects.

I don't know if it is an irony, but the cemetery where you reside is also the final resting place for about half of my family. Or maybe just coincidence. Or something in between. The GPS co-ordinates I found online put me in the right corner of the place, but there were still hundreds of markers to inspect. A worker just happened by and pulled out his phone and used an app (not available to the public, apparently) to locate you. And yes, there you were. The grass was long since turned green, as if you had been there for centuries, a dagger of guilt in my chest. I stood there for a moment, and made a decision to do the only thing I could think of to honor my friend.

I know you were still Trekkie enough to have seen the film "Star Trek: Generations", wherein Captain Picard teamed up with Captain Kirk to defeat Dr. Tolian Soran, as portrayed my Malcolm McDowell. After the controversial (as it turns out) scene, Picard is seen on a hilltop standing by a cairn he supposedly built for Kirk. It was poignant and cathartic to a degree, and it seems apropos for me to do the same for you. So, here is a symbolic gesture on my part to give a final farewell and express my love and respect for my friend of so many years, taking the above item and placing it on the bronze plaque at your grave, much like Picard did for Kirk. I would like to think you would approve.