I woke up today before the birds started chirping, around 4am.
At about 8:30 a.m. I showed up at R’s apartment complex with a thermos full of coffee and a keto-friendly baon that I packed for him. Packing a someone snack for the road feels like the deepest core Filipino instinct. He put me to work vacuuming, and then when I was done he gifted me the vacuum cleaner, which he was going to throw away anyway. My own vacuum cleaner will move on to Goodwill.
We got the manager to inspect his empty apartment, which is now spotless, and after that he turned in his keys. We walked to his car, said goodbye, and he drove away, waving to me in the rear view mirror. I felt dumb about waving so I just put my hand in the air.
I didn’t feel particularly sad, that I could tell; but I started crying as I was walking through his complex to my car. I cried all the way to Washington Street, and then I cried past St. Francis of Assisi and all the way to Highway 111, and then I finally stopped and exhaled at about Fred Waring. I don’t think I ever cried about another dude before; the last time I cried at all was in 2007 when my sister dropped me off at the airport when I was leaving for China.
Anyway, it feels silly now, all the crying. R is a very close and sincere friend; we supported each other a lot through these last few months of transition. The word I give him is “reassuring.” He’s a good man, I wish him well in the Society of Jesus. It pains me that we didn’t take a picture.
I made it back to my apartment and I sat with a neighbor for a while, and overshared. Now I’m back in my cool apartment, with zero desire to eat, read, or watch TV. I have a massage appointment in an hour and maybe afterward I’ll see a movie.
No plans for tomorrow, Sunday. Monday I’ll report for jury duty.