Six months ago, I met Max. We talked, we laughed, and we started hanging out. Every time I saw him, I smiled a big smile, and he'd smile one back and wave me over to wherever he was, or come over to where I was. He'd put his arm around me and say something to the effect of "que pasa chiquilla?" or "Saliner, you sexy yank." Getting a silly text message, email, or running into him on the bus or around town would always make me smile.
I ran into him a lot around Cadiz, especially, for some reason, the week before he died. He always greeted me with some sort play on my name or the fact that I'm American.
He seemed to be around when I had a couple of meaningless problems, like losing my cell phone (which he smartly said didn't matter, because I could easily get another), and having issues with boys. He stuck up for me on one specific occasion recently, and it meant a lot to me. I felt very protected and safe in his presence in an otherwise unsafe situation. I hugged him for a good 15 minutes and it was then that I think I realized just how much his friendship meant to me, and how close we'd become in just six short months.
I ran into him buying his chef costume at the carnaval store the day before, and I (because I recently returned from a trip to London and delighted in sharing with him my newfound English vocab) asked if he would make me some "bangers and mash," to which he gave me a sly look and, testing my UK knowledge, asked me if I knew what rugby was (which I do, by the way).
The next night was the biggest night of carnaval in Cadiz. I didn't make it to the party at his flat, but after that, he and I had been calling each other and missing each others' calls all night. I just wasn't giving up on seeing him and all the other English speakers. The city was crazy, with people shoved in any possible nook or cranny to avoid the rain. All of the friends I was with decided to go home, but I just wasn't ready. I went alone to try to find Max, and when he spotted me, he grabbed me, hugged me, and asked me where the hell I had been. We hung out outside of the infamous O'Connell's bar in the Plaza de San Fransisco, where I had seen him many times, day and night, over the last 6 months.
We stood there awhile, hanging out with friends, drinking, and just enjoyed the crazy, rain and alcohol soaked atmosphere of Cadiz. He bit me really hard on the cheek that night for absolutely no reason, and the pain stayed with me for days…and, it's weird, but I wish it had stayed with me forever. Then, some people got hungry and antsy, so we headed off in another direction. A few people stepped into a crowded restaurant, and Max stepped out, complete in his chef costume, with a very Spanish chorizo sandwich and a bottle of cruzcampo beer. I have an image of him in my head, gnawing on the sandwich, then holding it out to me, offering a bite.
All the time after that, even until this very moment, is a blur. I know what happened, I was one of the few that saw everything, but I also know that I am one of the few fortunate ones who got to spend Max's last moments with him. One minute we were all laughing and enjoying the night, awaiting whatever adventure might come next, and suddenly a million people's lives were turned around. And even though I saw him go, I still can't believe he is gone. Those moments will and do haunt me, but the good memories and the fun we all had with Max are what is helping me personally get through it.
It comforts me to know that to the moment he left us, Max was very happy, infected with the overwhelming spirit of carnaval and Spain, and doing what he did better than anyone I know, having a great time.
Max really touched my life. He made me smile and laugh, and he really was the life of the party. If someone like Max comes into my life ever again, I will know it was because of him, working his social butterfly magic from up above.
I know that I am blessed to have known Max, even for the short time that it was. Those of you who knew him longer and better are very fortunate. I made a note in my journal last December about how Max complimented me in a way that really struck me. He told me I was real, and that I listen, which is something I really strive to be and do, but that most people don't point out in such a way. It meant a lot.
My Mom told me today that death is something in life that you can't and won't ever get over, but you can only push through by keeping the good memories and thoughts of Max alive and in your hearts.
In the words of Max, "Ciao for now, brown cow. See ya pronto." You are missed.
Love from your favorite yank, Salina Greig
1 comment:
i'm not surprised at max biting your cheek salina. he'd sometimes get surges of seeming violence, though all it was, was an outlet for his excessive affections. a couple of times when we were together, he bit me on the lip so hard that i bled. that would surprise both of us and he was always really sorry after he'd done that! xxx like you, i'd not mind now if he'd left a permanent scar.
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