Why the hell is that guy calling me? Getting a phone call is so formal I only reserve it for job interviews and drug deals. Moreso, why Ryan? What cause to I have to hear from him of all people. I should have known not to answer. Not that delaying the news will make it any easier to bear.
“Hello?”
“Uh, Rochelle?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey this is Ryan, um, er Flash. Heh.”
“Yeah… what’s up?”
“I’m calling because something happened. Uh, well, I don’t know how well you really knew him….”

I stop hearing what he says at that point. I know at that moment someone is dead. My mind madly races through the list of people he could name that would warrant actually telling me about it. The list isn’t that long and yet, he names someone I am not prepared to lose. My only question is “Why?!” and Ryan reports that it seems medical, no reason to presume suicide. I believe him because I want to. I’m grateful for the direct answer even though I didn’t suspect foul play. My personal instinct is that this is a random tragedy brought on by fate because life is just that fucking cruel. Elves are magical creatures and their ways are not always known to us.

It was kind of Ryan to let me know. He is aware of how literally cut off I am from social media and knows how terribly that news could be delivered. I thanked him at least twice and think I hung up before the keening started. It always starts as a sound first. A vibration deep in my gut that hums out of my throat as anguish. Grabbing my face to stymie the tears, I am able to clamp my mouth shut before releasing a full-on wail. Trapping the emotion it travels through my lungs like a seizure. There’s a point where I’m sure I can’t breath. Convulsing like a kick to the gut, a sob escapes my throat and the woman next to me asks if I’m okay. Knowing I can’t help it at that point, I leaned forward with my face in my hands and blubber, “N-N-Nooo-ooo-oooo!”

She of course attempts to comfort me like any decent human would. I let her hold my rigid body but deep inside I know there’s nothing that will help. This is what it feels like. The pain starts in the center and over time works its way out. Usually coming in waves, as time passes so does the pain. It feels like my heart is cramping and holding it in is only a courtesy to the unwitting patrons next to me. From the minute I heard the news all I can think is get to Shorty’s. The people there won’t ask me why I’m crying. That’s better than nothing.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten one of these phone calls. It’s not even the first time a random, kind woman has tried to comfort me. The news was that Wade shot himself and she happened to ring the doorbell at that moment: 
“Hello! I was just in the neighborhood and I have this thing for the Junior League to drop off for Jan.  Is she home?”
Standing there, stricken.  “No,”  I choked.
Knitting her brow with concern, “Dear, are you okay?”
Looking at her with desperation in my eyes, my quivering voice stated, “My friend just died.”

I think she sensed I was in shock.  Her maternal instinct immediately took over and she clutched me to her silky chiffon blouse. “Oh you poor thing,” she cooed as I sobbed into her shoulder. Involuntarily weeping against this stranger’s soft bony shoulder all I can think is that I must be ruining her shirt. At some point my friend must have appeared because I was handed off and she said something about getting me to lie down. I still don’t know who that woman was. I refer to her as an angel because she provided exactly what was needed at that moment. Nothing truly helps but selflessness is always a good start.

I force myself to consume the scrambled eggs I ordered 20 minutes before Ryan’s phone call. I smile at the bartender and give him witty repartee about how much death sucks without going into too much detail. He smiles knowingly and brings me the check. In this moment, I remember BKS Iyengar describing his wife’s death:
Discover what does not die, and the illusion of death is unmasked. That is the conquest of death. That is why I did not cry for my wife, in spite of all my pain, for I will not cry for an illusion.
I understand that feeling and try not to cry, especially knowing how well-liked Elijah is. A magical creature through and through, I’m grateful to have known him.