Beginning

I sit at my computer. The day feels important. Because of the task I
have set for myself - the immortalization of a soul. It sounds more
serious than it is. I have a tendency for melodrama. And it is hard to
hide at times.

A man died 10 years ago to this day. And I never knew him. And I'm
going to write his story. I have spent hours on the phone - San
Francisco to Cairo - linked in a way that no one would have thought.
His girlfriend, Kim, called me. Told me all about him. About his
family. About the day he died.

The flags should have been flying half-mast today. There should have
been some sign - even if it was a clich? of cloudy skies.

But it was a day like any other.

Nicolas Trevor. That's the name he gave himself. I came to know his
real name by accident - as though I were never meant to know it. And
for some reason - it didn't leave its mark. Leaving his self-given name
embedded where his real name should have been. That is how he wanted to
be known anyhow.

I look out of the window and realize I am still at work. But not
working.

Everything can wait on a day like this. A 10-year anniversary of death.
It sounds like it should be important. It sounds like profound things
are said on days like this. Profound things are done.

And I want more than anything to be profound for once.

But I am easily distracted. More than I used to be.

My memory has never been good. That's why I took notes when I was on
the phone with her. I glance at them. But I can't read what I wrote.
She spoke fast. Her voice fading every now and then. And she
cried.

I let myself be distracted. With thoughts of my own childhood. Nothing
out of the ordinary. Nicolas - he was out of the ordinary.

And that makes me want to write about him even more. He will be the
touch of the insane in my life.

Because I will not let myself go.