The Big Blue Dragon is gone, again, at least from my life, I hope not from his life, although that too, could be true. He’s gotten one of those diagnoses, one that says you’re dying, no bullshit about it, it’s part of the name of the condition. Of course the Dragon’s particular condition did offer a glimmer of hope, one based on either the death or great sacrifice of another.
During our last conversation, electronic, the Dragon being one of my oh so many “friends” (hahahahahahahahahaha, she weeps) whom I’ve never met, never laid eyes on, never said hello to (or goodbye) with whom electronic communication is it, so cold, I wished a new kidney for him, as I wished a new home for Bubba, wished long happy old ages for both of them.
I’m quite confident Bubba didn’t get his, so much for wishes, he haunts me too completely. Not just the yellow (and of course, gray) tabbies who cried to me at that campground, oh no. Not just the cat who goes camping that that guy posted, that guy who told me no matter what, I must ensure a long and happy life for Bubba, Dragon Blue was of that opinion, too, so was I, if I could, but I couldn't, whether he’s sick or not, I’m ethically required says the vegan, let me post this here to stab you, no, there’s also the gray tabby living there in that car parked next to the van in this piece of sh*t Kentucky motel.
How probable is that one? It's there, I'm not imagining it, the folks in that car do go out and check on it occasionally, right outside my window.
A young one, clearly not sick, happy there in the sun of the dashboard.
The Big Blue Dragon was a much more direct soul than the folks who post those "you're such a f*cking monster videos", something I really appreciated, even as what he directed at me was rejection, my language is too foul, those torpedoes, well bless them, nothing is to be damned, the Catholic so there, hiding behind the Zen. But still, he at least tried, and cared, and said that always, he would care.
Of course, he’s disappeared. Perhaps dead. Perhaps cured. I so hope it’s cured, but have started to think perhaps I’m the death doula, that one that points out the obvious, the oncoming death, it seems so many I've known in this life were dying, some fast, some slow, although since I never actually met the Big Blue Dragon, perhaps the cure is what he found. Once I determined that Bubba was most likely dead, put to death, put down as they say, without me there to comfort him, I thought perhaps that was it, Bubba would be sacrificed and the Big Blue Dragon would get that kidney and live.
It’s a story I might be able to tell myself if he hadn’t disappeared so completely I can’t find him on Google, even if I did before, found his name in one spot, his father’s obituary, his father who shared my birthday, something he told me was true of himself, I don’t recall him telling me that he and his father both shared my birthday, although he did actually tell me quite a lot about his relationship with his father, go figure. And his father died just last year, odd, that, given that our electronic conversation occurred well before that, back before the last time he disappeared.
That first disappearance, well, I survived it, I could not suddenly be clean mouthed and into blessing the damned torpedoes, no matter how much he might have wanted me to, no matter what he might have wanted to transform me into. Dragonese is a language full of metaphor, and stories, and little white lies, and lessons given in koans, riddles with no answers, and for those of us who prefer direct questions with direct answers, well, it was tough.
This second disappearance, well, I’ll survive it, too. I always do.