Today I went back to where I started this project, the cemetery. It is strange for me to go to Matt’s grave when I have things on my mind that I would like to talk to him about. It used to be that he was the talkative one and I was taciturn. Now, I talk and he listens. It sucks when I just want him to give me some advice that he isn’t talking.
But the cemetery is an odd place. Silent, and still. So unlike Matt. I reminded him once about how he used to drive me to school, blasting the Alarm. He responded that it was when we were young and the world was ours. Those were good times. That was Matt though — big plans, always something going on. And he could talk, about lots of things, often about bikes, sometimes about more serious things — if there are any.
Matt made me feel daring, whether it was holding his wheel on a descent or taking out his car solo, which hated going slow mind you, when I could barely drive a manual. I think how much easier this would seem if he was still around. Instead I do it for him, with much less courage than when he was around. And even though he usually beat me on the bike (but I still have the best marathon time) I still miss him.