I thought I saw my old co-worker standing in line to get coffee
He was one of my favorite people, but I knew that when
I quit my job I would never see him again
Aside for the occasional post on Facebook
I smiled at him on my last day and acted as if it wasn’t a big deal to me
But it was a huge loss.
I looked at the man again and realized
That they looked nothing alike
Except for the wrinkles in his forehead

He used to talk to me through the partition of our cubicle
And got very excited about the littlest things
He would share his voicemails with me
And no one else
He worked with old people
Delivering books to the homebound
Knowing that someday they would be dead
So he saved the voicemails for as long as he had the space to do so

Some of the voicemails he would play over and over
And laugh until he cried
We cried

I asked him how he could live like that
Especially after Sheryl died.
Who was a pain in the ass and argued with her husband while leaving a message
We listened to the voicemails during our lunch hour
Spewing little pieces of lettuce onto our keyboards
Eventually, he ran out of space for Sheryl.

I thought I would take more risks in life
I had thought about that since my doctor told me that I had only
Ten years of movement left in my body
Also, I might start losing my memory
Which seemed worse a little
Though I had suspected it was already happening
So I thought I would sit there until the barista was forced to kick me out

Sometimes I got dizzy and the floor turned sideways
I didn’t want to tell my doctor because I was afraid
they would take away my driver’s license
I knew that made me a terrible person

Once I was in a writer’s workshop enjoying an intimate discussion
About what I can’t remember
And the man sitting next to me,
Let’s call him, “Steve”
Had very little patience for writing about the ugly, about the mundane
He seemed to think that you should only write about positive things
I said something but I can’t remember what it was

No actually, I told him that it was
Dangerous to pretend that the ugly parts of life don’t exist
What if you turn your back on anything that slightly offends you?
Will you not look into the eyes of the disfigured?
What will happen to them?
He thought that a fixation on these things could lead to evil
Are ugly people evil?
I am ugly now
Does that make me evil?

He grew up in Japan
And talked about that a lot
Maybe things are cleaner over there
And he just got used to that

I had been told that eventually
I would start mumbling and it would be difficult
For people to understand me

Once a woman walking toward me at a rest stop in Wisconsin
On a hot summer day
Called out to me that she loved my outfit
I wanted to be her friend
But I didn’t respond
And she just kept walking
I wondered if she was generous with her compliments to other people
Though I liked to think that I was special

God, why does my jaw hurt so much?

I had to take a poo but the café was about to close.
I thought it would be risky to do it then
What if I was locked in for the night.

Sometimes muscles in random places in my body would quiver
I had no control over that

I have become the person that my ex-coworker makes deliveries to
Does he remember me?
He pretends not to
I leave him voicemails
And wonder if he will save them.

– Jamie Gehin