Dear Eddie

Dear Eddie,
I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Not for any particular reason, other than that life’s decided to kick me in the ass a little bit lately. It sucks, because you were always the one who always had a profound knack for throwing me out of these funks, but you’re dead now and that’s one of the major factors contributing to this particular funk. That’s a paradox that I’m sure you’re just loving in your own twisted way.
Remember how I had it right after you died? I’m sure you do, you were there with me every step I took for those first few months; you tricked everything I saw and did into reminding me of you. Ass. Before you moved I was one of the cool kids because I was friends with you. Everyone was clamoring to get close to you and that goddamn infectious, maniacal smile. I was one of the lucky ones, the chosen few, who had you as a friend by default; with the childhood you and I had together there was no way we couldn’t be friends. But then you moved, and I realized that you had been my entire social circle. No one looked my way anymore because you were no longer there by my side, scheming our next escapade.
Then you died. Suddenly everyone wanted to be my friend again. To be your friend again. I bet you had a good laugh at seeing how many “friends” you had when you were dead. I was instantly cool again because I was “friends with the dead kid.” Not only that, but I was super special - I was friends with the kid who offed himself. It was sweet, I’d never had so much attention thrust my way before. Everyone scrambling to ask me “Why?” and “How’d he do it?” and “Were you in love with him?” I know you saw that, because I could hear your answers: “None of your damn business.” and “Leave her alone, you ass.” and “Yeah, were you?”
Isn’t it funny how death works? You know more about the specifics than I do, but I fancy myself a bit of an expert on the aftermath these days. You’re like a big ol’ yacht that’s cruised out of port trailing a massive wake in your path. Those of us who were part of your inner sanctum were close enough to get caught up in the turbulence churned up by your immediate departure. But as the social ties got looser and more distant people only felt your wake as a wee ripple, none too jarring to float over and easily forgettable as they were caught up in their own turbulence.
Sorry to get all metaphorical with you. I know you always hated it when I did that, when I played writer and tried to be fancy with my words. But you know what? You’re dead. You HAVE to listen to me now. You brought this on yourself, so my ranting and metaphor-weaving is something you’re going to have to put up with until I’m good and ready to let you rest in peace. I’ll let you know when that moment comes, but for the time being I still need you too much so I’m going to keep you around for a while.

Yours Always,
Andie