KSM - 1. KSM

On Thursday May 17, 2007, my best friend surprised me. Wait, let me back up a little bit. In February 2005 I met my best friend and the man I am convinced, even to this day, is/was my soulmate, at an NA meeting. We weren’t friends at first. Later, he would confess that I scared him because I was openly gay. He wasn’t homophobic. He just wasn’t out of the closet; even to himself.

Once we started hanging out, we became inseparable. We either saw each other or spoke on the phone every single day without fail. He told me he was completely straight and that’s what I believed. Why would I question it? We grew to love each other and would always tell the other “I love you” before we hung up the phone or left the other’s company. It didn’t matter who heard it. We didn’t hide the fact that we loved each other. Never physically though. He was straight, that’s what he always told me. There was only one time when I questioned this. We were at Station 4, where we went every Wednesday night because it was “straight night”, both of drunk and dancing together. Before I knew what was happening, we were kissing. When the kiss ended, I pressed my forehead to his and sighed. My exact words to him were, “You’re straight, that’s what you’ve always told me. I love you and I know you love me. But in my head you’re straight. Are you?”

That’s the night I learned that he wasn’t totally straight, but he only had sex with guys in the past that he used for their generosity and to get off, but it had been a few months since his last encounter and that was only because one of his old clients got him drunk and forced him to fuck him. He then told me who it was and I wasn’t surprised to learn it was an older guy that he had introduced me to a few times that I didn’t like. He didn’t know how to be in a relationship with a guy, care about him and have sex. He told me that if we ever had sex he would eventually grow to view me like all the others and he couldn’t do that to me. He told me he was completely in love with me. He told me he would never have sex with a guy again unless it was me. I know that was a promise he kept because the client that got him drunk called me and bitch me out for stealing his dick. I told the sorry old fucker what he was good for and told him that his assistance was no longer needed and if he ever tried to get my best friend drunk and rape him again it would be the last thing he would do.

From that night forward, we admitted that we both believed we the other’s soulmate and he referred to himself as my heterosexual life-mate. If he was hit on at the club by any guy he would tell them he wasn’t gay but his boyfriend was if they were interested. Everyone thought at first we were joking, but we knew we weren’t. He was my soulmate and I was his. We just couldn’t be together physically because of issues on both sides.

I learned quickly in our friendship that he was a Type 1 diabetic and had been diagnosed at the age of eleven. He had been on insulin every day after that for twelve years.

Fast forward to February 2007. He and I were sitting alone in his apartment, which was miraculous since by this point we ditch the NA meetings. At some point we both began using meth again. But we weren’t using daily, we worked when scheduled, we paid our bills. The meth was good if it was around, but we didn’t go out of our way to get it.

Anyway, like I said we were alone in his apartment (basically our apartment since I had a key and could come and go as I pleased), sober, and enjoying the quiet. I was on my laptop cruising whatever sites and he was doing the same on his. He broke the silence by asking if we could talk. I said sure, and then he asked me to get off my computer and talk to him on the couch. When I sat next to him, he didn’t start talking immediately. I asked him if everything was okay and he shook his and said no.

He then proceeded to tell me that a few months earlier he had learned from his doctor that his kidneys were starting to fail and if he didn’t go on dialysis or get a kidney transplant, he would die in less than a year.

I said, “Okay, so when are you starting dialysis?” Obvious question, right? He told me he wasn’t going to go on dialysis.

I then told him that the next we would go get me tested and I was a match I would give him a kidney. He refused. He said that he wouldn’t let me do that because what if in ten or fifteen years, one of my family members needed a kidney. I looked at him and yelled the fact that he was family and he needed one.

My best friend was more pigheaded than me. I knew better than to try to force him to do anything. So, with tears in my eyes I asked him if I was just supposed sit here and watch him slowly die?

He told me that he considered doing dialysis after the doctor told him at first. I was the first person he told any of this information to. He didn’t even tell his parents that he was in the beginning of renal failure. He said he refused to go through the daily pain of having a needle draw out his blood to be filtered by a machine and then pumped back into his body through another needle in the other arm. Each day would take about four hours of this to make sure all of his blood was filtered. He didn’t want his friends to see him go through that and slowly and painfully waste away.

He continued by saying that he was tired of the fact that the only reason he lived from one day to the next was because of some drug he had to inject himself with. For over ten years, the daily shots of insulin were all that insured he would see the next day. He said it fucked with his head big time and that he couldn’t do it anymore.

We both cried a lot that night. But, it was never mentioned again. Two months later on a Friday night in April, he dropped a bomb on me. He said he was moving to South Carolina to live with his sister. Expecting him to say a couple of months, I asked him when he was moving. He said Monday.

My head was reeling. I might have blacked out, I don’t remember. He said he wanted to have an epic going away party that was going to start that night and go through till he left Monday afternoon. I had to work every day that weekend, but when I wasn’t at Chili’s, I was at the apartment spending time with him. On Sunday night, knowing I had to work Monday lunch and he would be gone by the time I got off, I pulled him outside and told him goodbye. I reminded him that I loved him and always would. I kissed him on the lips, not passionately, just a small lips on lips kiss. I then headed home to cry myself to sleep before work. That goodbye was the hardest thing I had ever done and I didn’t want to do it again.

He had asked to keep an eye on the apartment since it was paid for through May. I was not happy when on Monday night, I show up and he was still there. I asked him why he was still there and he said that he had just finished packing his car and was telling everyone there goodbye when I showed up. I nodded and turned and went in the other room. He came in there about fifteen minutes later and said, “I guess I’m heading out, bye.”

I didn’t look at him. I just nodded and said okay. It was all I could handle doing. I couldn’t tell him goodbye again. The first time had been too hard.

He asked me if I was mad at him and I still didn’t look at him and said nope. He left the room and I assumed he left. I fell asleep in the bedroom, I knew there were still people out in the living room, but I figured I would kick them out the next morning when I left for work. I woke up to my alarm going off, still alone in the bedroom. I walked out to a nearly empty living room. He was passed out on the couch. I was livid. One of our friends was there and I asked her to please wake him up after I left and make sure he left. She agreed, so I headed to work.

Tuesday night, after working a double, I walk into the apartment only to discover, he was still there. I walked straight into the bedroom. Before I closed the door, I told everyone I was going to sleep and goodnight. I closed and locked the door. Why was he still there? I couldn’t ask him. I didn’t want to fight with him. I had told him my goodbye once, I would not do it again.

Thankfully, I was off Wednesday, so I could catch up on sleep and sleep all night day, which I did. When I finally decided to leave the bedroom Wednesday night, I expected maybe one or two people to be there. When I opened the door and saw him on the couch watching TV alone, I lost it. I asked him what the fuck he was still there for, why hadn’t he left.

He asked me if I was mad at him, to which I said I was fucking pissed. He looked at me and started crying. He said that’s why he hadn’t left. He couldn’t leave with his best friend and soulmate mad at him. Especially when he wouldn’t tell him goodbye.

I looked at him and told him the reason I was ignoring him and wouldn’t say goodbye was because I had done it Sunday night and couldn’t handle doing it again. I told him I loved him but I couldn’t tell him goodbye again. He finally understood. He gave me a hug, told me he loved me, and this wasn’t goodbye, it was see you later.

When he walked out the door I honestly thought that would be the last time I would ever see him. I knew I would talk to him every day, but didn’t expect to see him until I went to his funeral in South Carolina. I figured he was going to his sister’s to die.

Thursday night, May 17, 2007 about 6:30 pm. I’m an hour and half into my shift working expo (the person who gets the trays ready to leave the kitchen in a restaurant), when my manager walks up to me and tells me there’s a surprise for me at table thirty-one in the bar. I was a little busy and asked what she was talking about. She simply said, take the rest of the night off, and that she would take over as Expo. I was scheduled off for Friday and Saturday already. She said go see table thirty-one and that she would see me Sunday for my double shift as Expo.

I walked into the bar area and noticed a couple of friends sitting at the table I was told to go to. I couldn’t tell who was sitting across from them, since his back was to me. I walked over to hug my friends, thinking they were the “surprise” and glanced at who sitting across from them. I think I might have screamed like a fangirl. He was there. How? I had just spoke with him the night before. He said he was going to sleep early and that he would call me about nine my time the next night.

We hugged each other tightly, both of us crying. I asked what he was doing back and he said he decided to move back. I asked where he planned on living and he told me that if he couldn’t renew the lease on his apartment, then he would get a new one. *Remember the apartment was paid for through May*

We made plans to go out that night to The Church (a goth-industrial club we frequented), but first we were going to get some shit (meth) from my other best friend (a girl who is practically my sister who is also my connect). We go to my house so I can clean up and change and he drives us to downtown Dallas in is car to my friend’s loft. He gave me his portion of the money, so I know exactly how much he spent and how much shit he got. It ended up that he got all that he paid for but she would have to give me half then and half the next night, which I was fine with.

We smoked a bowl and headed to the club. We had a blast at the club and left to go to his apartment at around three in the morning. I hadn’t been by the apartment in probably a week since I kicked everyone out and locked it up. We arrive at the apartment and he tried his key first, which didn’t work. Weird, since we changed the locks shortly after he moved in and I hadn’t changed them back to the original locks the apartment used. For shits and giggles, I decided to try the original key to the lock the apartment complex used. It worked.

His place was left furnished, I was going to move his shit our before June and wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it. It was really only a bed and a sofa. We walk in, not quietly and glance at the couch. Neither of noticed it was not his couch. We walk towards the bedroom and open the door. There was someone sleeping in a bed. We could tell that wasn’t his bed and we didn’t know the girl asleep in the bed. Quietly, we closed the bedroom door and ran the fuck out the front door, not bothering to lock it. Thankfully, whoever that was sleeping in the apartment didn’t wake up. It seemed that the complex had decided that since he had already moved out and given notice that he wasn’t renewing for June, they would double dip and rent his place out to someone else. Even though he paid through all of May.

We decided to go my house. Have I mentioned that I lived with my parents? Anyways, we told them earlier that we going to be late. They were excited to see him and let him know that he could stay with us as long as he needed. He let us know he had a reservation at Intown Suites but couldn’t check in until Friday after two.

We head upstairs to the guest room where we hung out, smoked some shit and he took a nap. His nap turned into eight hours of sleep. I finally woke him up at noon. He got up and told me that he was going to try to check in early to his room and then he was going to talk to his apartment complex because technically, what they had done was illegal and he wanted some of his money back. He said he would text me later and let me know what room he was in. He left my house at about 12:30 pm. I didn’t’ hear from him at all until Saturday at about 5:00 pm.

I was worried about him. He left my house and was gone for over twenty-four hours. I called the motel and asked knowing that they couldn’t tell me his room number. I blew his phone up. I think I called him a total of like fifty times and sent him about that many text messages. He finally sent me a text message that said, “Sorry, I passed out and have been asleep. I’m not feeling well but come on over. I’m in room 312.”

I replied back that I needed to get my shit together and get ready and that I would be there in about an hour. An hour and a half later, I finally made it to his room. I needed to get downtown to pick up the rest of the shit that my friend owed me. I had already finished all of mine and he could tell I was getting a little tired, so he gave me some of his. That’s when I noticed that he hadn’t touched it since he left my place.

While I did my thing, he laid down and started falling asleep again. I asked if he wanted any and he refused. I asked if he was willing to drive downtown again and he said he didn’t feel like going, but I could borrow his car and go since my truck drank gas like it water. He handed me his car keys and a key for the room door. I told him I would be back later but definitely by morning since I was scheduled to work a double Sunday as Expo. (clock in at 10:30, out at 3:00, back in at 4:00, then leave around 8:00 or 9:00). He told me to take my time as long as I made it to work he didn’t plan on going anywhere.

So, I left him asleep on the bed of the hotel in Lewisville and drove the twenty miles to downtown Dallas. I made it there around 9:00 pm. (I heard from him at 5:00, got to the room around 6:30, hung out till about 8:00-8:30 and left). I spent about an hour and a half at my friend’s loft, just hanging out. When I left her place, I sent him a text message. He replied suggesting that I go have some fun while I was downtown. I refused at first, but he said he was sleeping anyways and would be boring company. I went to the bathhouse. (and didn’t even get lucky dammit).

I left the bathhouse about 4:30 in the morning and headed back to the hotel room. I let myself into the room. He was sleeping, so I didn’t bother waking him. I left a note reminding him that I had to work a double Sunday, and that if I didn’t see him after work, I would be there about eight in the morning so we could go see The Human Body exhibit that was going around. The one with the cadavers that had skin removed so you could see the muscles and insides. I left the hotel, got ready for work and went in worked for eleven hours with barely any break because our lunch rush lasted longer than normal.

I tried to call him during my break, but he didn’t answer. I finally clocked out and got in my truck at 9:35 pm. I called him and he answered on the first ring. Something in his voice didn’t sound right. I couldn’t quite place it though.

“Hey you finally answered. I just now got out of there. Today was a day from hell. How are you feeling now?”

“I don’t feel right.”

“What do you mean you don’t feel right? Are you hungry? I can bring you some food if you want.”

“No, I’m not hungry. I haven’t taken my insulin today.”

“Well, then get you little ass out of bed and take your insulin.”

“It’s down in the car.”

“Then march your happy butt down those stairs and get it.”

“I don’t think I can make it down there and back up.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Let me call my mom and let her know what’s going on.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I know you’re tired. Go home and get some sleep.”

“And how will you get your insulin then?”

“Josh is on his way over. I’ll have him bring it up to me.”

“Is Josh really going to show up this time? Why don’t I just come get for you?”

“I promise, Josh is on his way. He’ll bring it up to me. I love you. I’m going to go now.”

“Okay. I love you too. I’ll see you in the morning. Bye.”

And we both hung up. Something about the conversation bothered me, but I couldn’t tell you what was. I called a friend of ours and told her about him not taking his insulin and that the conversation was kinda weird. She asked me why I wasn’t going over there and bringing it up for him. I said Josh is supposed to be on his way there now and he would bring it for him. I asked her to call him and if she think he sounded weird if she would meet me at the hotel and help me assess the situation. She agreed.

Less than five minutes later, she called me back. She said he didn’t answer her call, but she believed that Josh had probably arrived and was getting the insulin then. I agreed and head home.

I couldn’t sleep despite being tired. Around 1:15 am, I received a text message. It was from a friend I knew who I hooked up with occasionally. We would smoke some shit and fuck all night. He let me know he already had a guy there, but we could share him if we wanted. I said I just really wanted to get out of the house, I couldn’t stand feeling trapped.

I showered and got my shit together and made it to his place about 2:30 am. We all smoked and then hung out. I watched them fuck some, then his friend asked if he could fuck me. I agreed and they both fucked me pretty good.

When we were done, I loaded a bowl and smoked it with them. I looked at the time and saw that it was 7:15 am. I started gathering my shit and getting dressed. I jokingly said when I walked out the door, “I gotta go make sure my best friend is still alive.”

At 8:05 am, I went to put my key card in the door to get in the room. When I pushed the card in, the door pushed open. The chair that sat in front of the TV and by the bed was on its side. The little eating tabled was knocked over. Between the chair and the table, on the floor, my best friend looked like he laying on his stomach sleeping. I said loudly, “Kevin wake up.” I went to push him a little with my hand. I didn’t feel the warm spongy feeling of a body when I touched him. It felt like I was touching granite. That’s how hard his flesh was.

I immediately drew my hand back. I stood up and ran down the stairs as fast as I could. I placed my backpack (aka dopebag) in my truck and locked the doors. I pulled out my cell phone as walked back upstairs. I dialed 9.1.1.

“9.1.1, what’s your emergency?”

I was balling when I said I just found my best friend dead in his hotel room. She asked if was with him now, and I let her know I was just outside the room. She said I need you to try to administer CPR, I’ll walk you through it.

I told her that she didn’t understand. When I said dead I meant the cold and hard skin kinda dead, not the mouth-to-mouth, kinda dead.”

The bitch said, “So, you’re refusing to try and resuscitate him?”

“Lady, he is dead dead. Please just get someone here to get him.”

She told me someone would be there shortly. I hung up and sat outside the door, waiting for the ambulance, cops, anyone that could remove his body.

I wish now I had been thinking clearer. If I had been, I would’ve grabbed his shit from the room and hid it with mine. That way the drug stigma wouldn’t be there. Well, the police found his shit and decided they wanted to question me about his shit.

One of the detectives came up to me. “Sir, could you please stand up and answer some questions about your friend?”

I stood up and said sure.

He said, “Were you aware that we found illegal substances in the room?”

I nodded and said, “I knew he had a small amount of meth, but he hadn’t done any of it all weekend.”

The fuckhead detective then said, “You call ten ounces a small amount? Where did he the stuff?”

I looked at this dickwad like he was from another planet. “What the fuck do you mean ten ounces? He had one point three grams at most. I know this because I got it for him. I weighed it out at my friend’s place in downtown and handed it to him. It weighed one point seven five exactly then. He loaded one bowl that we smoked on Thursday night. He hid the shit in his car and we went to a club. We then went to my house where I loaded some shit from my bag. He checked in here Friday and slept all day. Saturday, I came over and he handed me his bag and I took out maybe point three of a gram. That means he had a bag and some shit that weighed together about one point five grams. Don’t fucking pull this bullshit with me about ten grams, he wouldn’t even know where to find that much, he would need me to get it for him. Since I didn’t, I know he doesn’t have that much. My best friend is dead. You need to contact his parents and let them know he has died. I don’t have their phone numbers. I their names are blank and blank something and they live outside of Tulsa. If you can’t find them that way, his phone unlock code is #### and they are in his phone under Mom and Dad or you can call NAME who is his sister. They need to know as soon as possible.”

I don’t know how I got away with saying all of that shit, but they didn’t say another word about the shit. I figured they would track his parents down based on the information I gave them. This all took place from 8:10 am till about 11:00 am when I finally headed home. By then, most of our friends knew. That meant people started leaving messages on his Myspace page. (Yes I said Myspace, this was 2007, Facebook hadn’t taken off yet).

I was sitting in my room at home at about 2:30 pm, when I suddenly got an instant message from some girl that wasn’t on my friend’s list.

“Jay, why are people leaving these messages on my brother’s page? What’s going on?”

It was his sister, she had checked his Myspace page, and she had no clue. I asked her if her parents had been contacted by Detective BLANK from the Lewisville Police Department.

A few minutes later, she said no.

I replied, “Your parents need to call ###-###-#### and talk to Detective BLANK. I’m sorry that’s all I can say.”

About thirty minutes later, my cell phone rang. Caller ID said the area code was Tulsa. I let it go to voicemail. When I got the new voicemail alert, I quickly checked it.

“Jay, this is BEST FRIEND’S DAD’S NAME. Can you please let me know what is going on so that I can get my son’s body?”

I call Detective BLANK and told him good job on letting his family know what happened to him. I gave him the phone number the voicemail came from and told him to take care of it please.

I received a phone call the next day from his sister. She asked me about the drugs and asked if this could have been an overdose. I let her know that yes he had bought some but had not done more than smoke a little bit on Thursday night. The rest had been accounted for. I promised her the tox-screen would come back negative for meth.

She let me know that his parents had him cremated and that there was going to be a memorial service in three days at the Methodist Church in Lewisville. She asked to let our friends know.

When I finally met his sister, we sat down and put a lot of things together.

· I had found out that his insulin was in fact in the car, and had been there all weekend from what they could tell.

· I let her know that I watched him take his Thursday dose in the parking lot of the club and that I noticed him store it back in his bag and put that in the backseat.

· She let me know his insulin bag found in the backseat right where I said he put it Thursday night.

· I then told her about my conversation in February.

· She told me he let her know the same thing when moved in with her and she made him tell his parents, by this point, there was no alternative path except transplant and since they were both adopted, unlikely that anyone would have been a match.

· I told her that he told me I was the only one who knew what hotel he was at.

· We decided to ask Josh why he didn’t bring the insulin up at the memorial service. (this was the only part that wasn’t adding into the conclusion we were both heading to)

· Josh said he had no clue he was back, the last time they had talked was the day before he left.

· His sister and I agreed- He did this on purpose, and he set it up so that I would be the one found him.

To this day, I still refuse to say that he committed suicide. I say he was tired of depending on insulin to be the only reason he was alive. He went out on his terms. For a long time, I was pissed at him. In my head, I had killed my best friend. I took his car on Saturday night and kept it out till early Sunday morning. That means I had his insulin with me the entire time. Our friends (his sister is now included in that list) argued that even if I brought the insulin to him, he still would have probably refused to take it. I countered with Sunday night and deciding not to go over to the hotel room and check on him. I could’ve given him the insulin or called an ambulance or something to save him. They asked me how pissed he would’ve been at me for doing that and would he have ever truly forgiven me. The resounding answer all around was extremely and no. So, I let go of that guilt. (it took a few years to fully let it go-like ten and writing that sentence) I decided I was pissed because he set it up so that I would be the one to find him. I was also pissed that he didn’t warn me. (the warning part I got over rather quickly when someone asked if I had known ahead of time, would I have stopped it at the last second and called an ambulance-the answer was yes and he would’ve known that; the setting it up to be me that found him, I’m still pissed about a little, I don’t know if I can ever get over that).

Today, May 21, 2017, marks the ten year anniversary of me losing the love of my life, my soulmate. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about opening that door and seeing his body on the ground. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t feel his skin under my fingertips feeling like granite-cold and unyielding. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t tell him that I love him.