My best friend died a lonely man in a Palm Springs hotel room yesterday. The last time I saw him, his face was drawn, his eyes were blurred, and his shirt soaked with sweat. I wonder now if he really listened to what I said. There was a time when he was social and had an easy grin. Now the unstudied bad decisions I made about him are suddenly disturbing. My criticisms have become like dust on a windy street. I was struck by the irony of the moment. The absolute truths within me now struggle to tell his real story.
By James ( Jim ) Freeze