Two years ago I got a call to say my mate Tom had died. I had to take a few seconds to think 'Tom who?' because I hadn't seen him for a while. We'd been drinking buddies in the past, and used to swap travel stories - like me he spent quite a bit of time in South-east Asia and loved it over there. He found it hard coming back to the UK. He had OCD when younger, which had really strung him out, but we all treated it as a bit of a laugh, and would tell him we were leaving at 8.45 to give him time to turn on and off the lights, check the doorhandle, wash his hands a few times, ready to meet us by 9. Anyway, he got a job in a pub which was awesome, because he could spend the whole day polishing the brasses. He used to lighten up when he'd had a drink, and just relaxed a bit with the routines. He had a hell of a sense of humour: ultra dry. And you really had to be there, but the impression of a Viet zookeeper he'd once met ('you want wild enemas?') would leave us crying with laughter.
Anyway, there's bugger all work round this way out of season, so he moved to a nearby city - the same one I'd moved to years earlier. I didn't see him much after I got sober - our paths didn't cross in the pub any more. One day I was shopping in town with my bro-in-law and bumped into him. We went for a drink down by the river and I stuck to coffee. He was full of plans - new job lined up, starting a college course, new girlfriend. I know now that all this was a lie. But that was the last time I saw him.
He got caught drink driving, and was due to appear in court. He missed the court appearance (he was drunk) and was arrested. Got a fine he couldn't pay. He got another court appearance and someone noticed his intoxicated appearance. There may have been a couple of other charges. He got sent to prison for a month. He got sober in prison, started a course, got himself together. He was released on December 31st. He walked straight back into his local pub.
The call came from my sister. Tom had been best man at her wedding. He'd been found dead on the floor of his flat. They reckon he'd been there three weeks. He'd lost contact with just about everyone - all his mates. He kept open a line of communication with his sister, but the last conversation they'd had had been a row. Everyone was sick of him lying, borrowing money and never paying it back, using people. His last act was to call an off licence and order some takeout booze. Some time in the night he got up from the couch, fell over, hit his head and died. He was 30 years old.
I went to the funeral. The entire town here went - there wasn't room for everyone in the church. I gave my condolences to his family. His sister cut me dead. It could have so easily been me instead, you could see her thinking. And I can't blame her for wishing that it had been.
Anyway, last year I was on a beach in Vietnam. There was a small shrine there, and a woman selling incense. I went over and bought some sticks, lit them and placed them in the holder. And there, in front of the South China Sea, so different to this sea here in England which we used to sit in front of, I offered up my best attempt at a prayer for the memory of my friend Tom.
The world is round. You have gone but are only out of sight. I will see you again.
