"Hey, I saw your photo in the paper..."

"Hey, I saw your photo in the paper..."

I stared at the words for a moment, then backspaced. Too casual.

"Dear Jamal..."

Ugh. Too formal. The early morning light streaming through the blinds casts stripes across the pixilated black and white rendering of your face. You're wearing that goofy half smile, the one you use when you're uncomfortable, and it's clear that your suit is too big across the shoulders. Awkward as you look, the newspaper image still manages to convey that boyish, easygoing charm that makes everyone who knows you instantly love you.

My phone alarm beeps it's second warning. I've got to get dressed and ready for work, but I don't move from the kitchen table. I pull the paper closer and focus on your familiar face. With some surprise, I notice the scar is still there above your right eye. I remember the day you got it, trying to put that huge box of books on the shelf in the closet by yourself. I told you to leave it, that we could move the books individually, that I wanted to go through them anyway, but you were stubborn and impatient. I remember being equal parts worried and annoyed when the bottom of the box burst open over your head, and then the rush of guilt when I noticed the trickle of blood. You looked up at me dazed for a moment before you laughed. "Don't say it" you warned as my guilt gave way to exasperation. You grabbed my ankles and pulled me onto your lap and kissed me until my sides split with laughter. You had a way of throwing me off balance even then.

"Hello Jamal. I hope you have been well."

My fingers hover over my laptop keyboard once more, before I slowly erase the words again. That's not right either. Too distant, and after all that we've been through, the pretense rings false. I remember your eyes when I left. Even though you were hurt, you understood, I could see it. You didn't beg or pled, just watched me pack with eyes that were so devastated, but so compassionate at the same time. Even later, when I tried to come back, you closed the door with those same sad yet understanding eyes. I gaze at your eyes in the newspaper photo. I can still see the kindness in them.

The cat rubs against my leg and begins her plaintive wail for food. I absently stroke her ear and drink in the sight of you one more time. Your hair is too short, it looks like you just got it cut. Though your smile is awkward, your head is straight and you look proud. I finally allow myself to follow the line of your arm to your hands, drawn across your body and gently grasping the hands of another. There is the white flash of a ring, and a glimpse of manicured fingers entwined with yours. I get as far as the white of her sleeves before I have to look away. I'm not ready for anymore than that.

I push the paper aside and glance at my kitchen clock. I need to get a move on if I don't want to be late for work.

"Congratulations Jamal. All the best."