I went to see the kid last night, in the evening, around 6PM. It was already pretty dark, because of the whole Daylight Savings Time change and all that. I took him a little ceramic angel to sit on the black marble of his grave marker to let him know I still think of him, and I took him a little electric light in the shape of a tea candle. I felt good then, walking away and seeing the orange light flicker in the growing darkness like fire. It made me feel peaceful. And I had Angel with me, too, so maybe that helped. The Dud, 'Ama and Nenni went with me too. Dud even saw Marco's picture and said he was "kinda cute." *shruggs*

But despite it all I felt a bit restless. It's been five years since he died, and not once have I taken him flowers. Sure, I've gone to visit the kid every once in a blue moon, and I do spend the vast majority of my time talking to him when I'm driving around by myself in my car, but... no flowers. So this morning I had to go to the notary public dude to get some paperwork done for my father's hospital billing and all that, and I had some cash left over. Ten dollars, actually, and since I was already downtown, I decided to walk up a few blocks and get my buddy some flowers. Nothing fancy, just nice flowers.

I ended up getting him five roses: golden-yellow on the outside of the petals and a deep, rich salmon-y orange fleshy color on the inside. Not quite orange, and not quite magenta. And just five, one for each year he's been gone. The lady added some "greens" (ferny stuff and tiny yellow fuzzy flowers) to go between the roses for three dollars. Then she trimmed them to the right length, gave me some tube-y thingies that you fill with water and stick on the ends of the stems so the flowers last longer, and put everything in a brown paper bag (she was out of clear plastic bag-wrap things, so sorry, she said). I made my merry little ass way back to Mak' (car) and sped on home. Somewhere along the way I decided a picnic at the cemetary would be a great idea (don't ask), and thus I decided I would rush home, take a shower, feed the dogs, get ready for work, and go to Subway's to get Marco and me some lunch. Then I'd be able to spend at least an hour with him before I'd have to drive back home to go to work. Yet for some reason I wanted to keep it all secret. I decided not to tell my family and just go. Well, things happened that way, but not as quickly as I would've liked. It took me a few hours to get going, and by the time I got to Subway's, it was almost 1:30. After that, everything was a rushed blur. Twenty minute drive to the cemetary and I only had ten minutes to sit down and talk to my friend (he was quiet during the entire meal, and he didn't even pick at his food) while cramming my six inch down my throat in as big mouthfuls as I could muster. I changed out his flowers, dusted the black marble a bit, poured some Rasberry Iced tea down into the earth where (I hope) his head would be, and rushed off again with a sheepish grin and a thousand pardons. I jumped in the car, flipped on the radio station, and the first words I hear are: "What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here... I don't belong here."

Pues, �correme, guey! That's when all those remorseful feelings started deep in my gut. Maybe it's just the sandwich, I don't know, but I started feeling really guilty about the whole thing for some reason. Like, what the hell was I doing there? I don't belong there, having a picnic on someone's grave, especially when it's the grave of someone I barely knew in life! At least, I feel now like I barely knew Marco. Why do I keep going back there? Why do I still grieve for the guy? He's been dead for FIVE YEARS and not even his close friends seem to be leaving him crap at his grave anymore. The flowers I changed out were wilted, dried red (or maybe dark pink?) roses. The water was green and getting slimy. They were probably left there by his grandmother, or his brother maybe, and it looked like they'd been there over a week. Probably birthday flowers, since his 21st just passed on the 26th of October. (The Dud said I should've taken him some booze to pour over his grave, but I'm not sure his family would appreciate that being the religious nuts that they are -- I didn't mean that, I didn't mean that! Bad, bad me!) The point I'm trying to make is: I have no business being there! I mean, not even his family... right? Like, shit! I don't even know what I mean anymore. All I can say is I really miss the guy. Everytime I think about him, I still wanna cry. It's been five years, and every October, towards the end, I get slightly nostalgic. Every March I get depressed a bit. And like I mentioned, I'm always talking to him when I'm driving alone in my car. Now that 'Apa's been so sick, I talk to him even more, asking him to show my old man around, if 'Apa kicks the bucket soon. So my dad won't be lonely. And because of all the dead people I know, Marco's the one I trust most (after T�a Lili and T�o Cruz). I dunno.