death and friends

We get together more regularly now, my old friends and I. I try to make sure to see them when I go down to see my parents, which is more often now that Dad is so frail. But after a certain number of beers, the conversation inevitably turns to the tragedies. I know not everyone had teen years like these. I’ve met a lot of people over the years, and  I know this isn’t normal. After dinner, we drink and talk about our dead friends. We’re damaged, B. maybe most of all, he was in the room when D. shot Leon., but all of us, interrelated in our damage for sure. Maybe it helps to talk about it, at least it’s not a secret here. But I can’t have the same conversation over & over. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have done anything more. We tried. We failed.