Two Friends (Part 3): Mad Mix again

I am a shitty guardian angel.

A friend of mine died today. We can argue all day about responsibility and whether or not there was anything I could do to have stopped this. I've forgotten what fake name I made up for him last time, so I'll just use his real name...he wouldn't have objected. Brandon, as I think I said before, was addicted to pills. He was also horribly depressed. I still haven't heard whether they think it was accidental or a suicide, but he overdosed this morning.

Canada -- I wouldn't expect this entry to be edited. I also wouldn't expect it to be very focused.

About seven or eight months ago, I was introduced to a woman. She'd had a hard life and had been treated badly by her former husband. I reached out, with mixed innocence. I helped her. I talked to her about God, Jesus, the church -- all these things she already knew about, but had slipped her mind as things got worse and worse around her. And I loved her...not in the romantic way, but in the agape way -- granted, in such a miniscule variation that only a heretic could call it Jesus-like. I listened. I talked her through a few difficult situations, and I like to think that I was a blessing for a while there. And then, I screwed it all up. My own desires (desires for her...or if you want to talk philosophically -- some sort of screwed up, sinful desire to fill some sort of void in myself with Hollywood-ized romance) got in the way of actually loving another human being in a self-sacrificial way. Love became want, and wanting ends in hurt. I unravelled her.

Less than a week after the implosion, Brandon called me -- out of the blue. We prayed on the phone together for almost an hour. I admitted to him the kind of screwed up, out-of-whack, adulterer I had become and suddenly a bond formed that had never been there in all the years we'd known each other and talked about movies, work at Olive Garden, and whether or not the movie K-Pax sucks.

This man, older and more accomplished than I am, looked up to me. We started praying together often. He would tell me about his troubles and I would pray for him. I would pray for him.

I prayed for him.

I prayed blessings on him. I prayed that things would get better. I prayed that God would help him with his addictions. I prayed that his money issues would get better. I prayed that his work situation would improve. I prayed that his love life would improve. And I prayed that even if none of those things changed, his outlook would.

I prayed those things. I prayed them every day. And so, so fervently. So why is he dead now? How could he have overdosed? Don't my prayers accomplish anything?

My friend Canada says that he's stopped praying "that God's will be done." Because he thinks it's stupid. He prays for specific things and crosses his fingers that that also happens to be what God wants. I don't remember whether I prayed that God's will be done in Brandon's life. If I didn't, should I have? And if I did, was that stupid and I should have prayed for a long healthy, happy life for my friend?

My friend is dead. I feel like writing that sentence over and over down the page so that the weight of it will be clear, but the fact of the matter is -- whenever I hear that someone has died who I didn't really know that well, or care that much for, I simply pause for effect and say something to the extent of, "wow...that's really horrible." I then wish to move on to another subject, but I know I should wait long enough to pay the proper respect and not come off like some unfeeling sociopath. You don't know him, so all my words fail to convey the proper weight. I'd do better to write a screenplay about a wonderful, charming, funny character and then kill them off midway through the finale -- right when it seems like they're getting better. At least then it would be a character you've grown to love and care about.

But at least you could rewind the movie.

I could have done something about this.

"There's nothing you could have done, Austin. This wasn't your fault," you say.

But there was. Brandon thought of me as his mentor. He thought of me as his guardian angel in a lot of ways. I was helping him. And I hurt right now.

Brandon was my second chance. And maybe that's selfish of me to be thinking that right now, but it's what I'm thinking. After the girl...I was introduced to someone else whom I could help. This time, it was a guy, so romanticy feelings couldn't get in the way. But I still got distracted. I got busy, and I lost touch slowly over the last few weeks.

A few weeks ago I went over and recorded a few acting bits his newest album. He wanted me to play his psychiatrist...lecturing him mildly for his abuse of pills, and trying to help him clean up. I was really excited to help. I really loved that guy. Or do you say love -- in the present tense -- even after someone is gone?

I honestly don't know what to say. The writer in me is frustrated that this doesn't all tie up neatly to make an interesting point or provide some poignant reflection on something stupid. "How my life has improved and I have become wiser following the death of a screw up."

I'm mad at myself for spending so much time talking about myself instead of making the story about him. I'm also mad at myself for forcing myself not to make this a list of Brandon's 1001 amazing qualities because I feel like that would be cliche.

Brandon was a better man than a large percentage of the people I know. He was a better Christian than 90% of the Christians I know. He's literally one of the best rappers I've ever had the privilege to hear. He's one of the most honest people I've ever met.

And I feel like I could have prevented this, and didn't...even though I know that's a cliche thing to say.