Death where is your sting?

I am too late. Much too late. That is what rustles through my mind as I read the message. I stand with my mobile phone in my hand in the living room. Stupid, defeated, and guilty. I do not even know what I was going to do. Making coffee? Going to the bathroom? Walking to the bookcase to reread The Black Swan by Talib?

He is dead. Dead as a doornail. That is the only thing that is still going on in my mind. I check the message again. But it is not a joke. It is not some lame play on words. The sender is Ryan's wife. She is the most serious person I know. The only thing I have ever seen her smile about is on a waiter who dropped - on a terrace - a full tray of pastries, in the lap of a council member.

That cannot be true, I mumble. It must be obvious now. I am still in full denial. The short message says nothing about the cause of death. I feel myself getting dizzy. I flop down in my IKEA armchair. And I still refuse to believe any word of the text.

It is very simple. Ryan cannot be dead. I need him. In all my life struggles, in my eager ambitions, he plays a role. A role? The leading role. He is the one I look up to. His character, his way of thinking, his personality, are the ultimate example for me to follow. Without Ryan, I am an actor without a script, I am a detective without a dead body, a politician without a trivial lie.

Completely against my own habit, I immediately take action this time. I call Maike, his wife. To my surprise, she picks up the phone. In a muffled voice, I offer her my condolences for the tragic loss. Then there are seconds of silence. These are the moments I could tell her how much Ryan meant to me. How much he still means to me. Deep down in my heart, I still cannot believe he is dead.

I make an appointment with Maike to come over. I take half a day off. Ryan lives in the south of the country. It is more than three hours driving. 'He is laid out at home,' she says matter-of-factly. And again, I have no clue what to say to hear.

"We had to put him in the utility room. It turned out that there was enough space for the coffin, for the necessary cooling, for the visitors," Maike explains to me as I stand with her in the hallway. It has been tropically warm for days. I have deliberately dressed soberly. Dark jeans, gray shirt, leather boots. She is wearing a white T-shirt, long linen skirt, and some yellow-orange sneakers.

"Do you want coffee first?" she would like to know. She talks as if she is the coordinator of a charity fair. Off course, I know much better. She has buried her grief deep in one of her heart chambers. Only those who really know her will sometimes notice it. The razor-sharp pain of missing her soulmate, her buddy, Ryan.

There is a murmur from the room. I am not the only one who wants to offer her and the children condolences. I am about to go back to the car. "It's no problem," she says understandingly. She touches my arm briefly. “I know how much you and Ryan meant to each other. When you do not need coffee, I can see if you can go to the utility room. But do not get startled. He has changed quite a bit.”

When did I last see Ryan? I am shocked by the thought. It has been more than five years. While in the past, there were years when we were inseparable. I was studying physics while Ryan was taking – in theory - classes at the biology department. We lived in the same house ‘Vox Populi, Vox Dei’ for almost ten years.

Ryan has been a free spirit for as long as I have known him. An independent person, an artist of life. The fact that he once married the serious, somewhat boring Maike surprised friend and foe. But in retrospect it must have been self-insight. Without Maike, Ryan had no space, no boundaries, no direction. Without his life partner, he would have become nothing more than a lost bird.

He eventually turned out to be a journalist. The terror of every editorial team. He knew exactly which toes to step on, he did not hesitate to kick sore legs. Dignitaries, advertisers, the royal family. He had no awe. No dread. Not for gods. Not for people.

Maike closes the utility room door. And then I stand alone in the small space. There is the sterile hum of the cooling. In the corner the washing machine and condenser dryer are situated. On the narrow counter lies a pile of clothes. Next to paint pots, brushes.

I hear rustling. A mouse, a cat? But then Ryan climbs out of the oak coffin. Very supple, very ordinary. As if it were a hammock. And before I know what is happening, he is wiggling in front of me. Thin, pale, fragile. But alive. I knew it, I knew it, it flashes through my head. He is not dead at all. He is just pretending.

“It is nice that you came by,” Ryan admits and stretches his arms and legs. “It has been a while since we spoke. Hasn’t it?”

Ryan sits down on one of the plastic folding chairs. I remain standing. More animated than bewildered. The questions stumble over each other in my head. I know that we have very little time. And I still want to know so much from my old friend.

“I am sorry I died at such an early age. Colon cancer. An aggressive kind,” Ryan apologizes. “And my lifestyle – tasty food, lots of drinks, little exercise – did not help the recovery process. Eventually I lost all my excess pounds. I fit well in the coffin now.”

His sense of humor has remained the same, I notice. And that is one of the reasons we liked each other so much. Ryan can put things into perspective like no other, he is always able to choose a new perspective. That is why he has never been averse to controversial opinions. Even if it costs him friendships, relationships.

I start talking. Stammering, halting. All those questions, all those feelings, all those ideas. How do I give them direction?

“Deep down in my heart I have always been jealous of you. But in a positive way. I looked up to you,” I admit. “I admired your style, your quirkiness, your adventurousness. I recognized it. And deep down I wanted it so badly. To be a bit braver, more fearless. But unlike you, I am adapting. I keep coloring between the lines, I keep my opinions to myself. I am the grey color in a dark shade.”

“What I’ve always found so special about you,” Ryan replies, “is that you have remained so normal. No fuss, no big words. You do not shout yourself down. If you say anything at all.”

“If I die, it is like someone is throwing away an empty milk carton. So trivial, so petty.” I explain. “That is how I am. Insignificant. That is how meaningless my life is. No one will miss me. If I am gone, no one will notice. No one will ever remember me.”

“You will never move mountains. You will never rock the boat,” Ryan discloses. “You are too kind, too sweet. And far too honest for that. You are what people are supposed to be. Gentle, kind.”

“People will remember you,” I muse. “Your thoughts, your insights. They have made a difference. They gave cause for commotion, for fuss. Thanks to your texts, the world around you has changed. You have made a mark. You are unforgettable.”

“Therefore, stay as you are. Small, modest, sincere,” my friend clarifies. “A little silly, a little out of touch with the world. But therefore, a real person, a worthy creature. Few dare to be like you.”

“That is why I would like to speak to you again so dearly. I know I must change,” I share my thoughts to Ryan. “To prevent myself from remaining colorless. Unnoticed, inconspicuous, surreptitious. What should I do according to you? Can I learn something from your capriciousness, your adventurousness, your courage at the last minute? What is the secret? What has been your mystery?”

“Please. Stay yourself. Do not change,” Ryan finally spells out.

As quickly as he crawled out of the coffin, he manages to climb back in just as quickly. I am amazed. He was not this agile before. He is actually not a second late. The door opens. I sit down on the plastic folding chair. As if nothing has happened.

"Everything okay here? My boy, you are a sight! You didn't fall asleep, did you?" Maike states unaffectedly. Then she frowns her thin eyebrows and looks at me suspiciously. "Or is Ryan at it again? He cannot help himself! Even death cannot get a hold of him."