Azkarah - 1. Chapter 1

AZKARAH

Procrastination, I am thee.

I almost didn’t take part in this tribute. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t quite figure out the right way to go about it, especially as I had to actively think of Carlos being gone. I thought of giving his character Sean and me my dream storyline, but this is supposed to be about paying tribute to Carlos, not fulfilling my desires about a fictional redhead. If you know, you know. Also, taking Sean out of the canon that is the CJ-verse seemed so wrong, and I could never do him justice. So here we are. I stared at this page so long, my eyes blurred, and in the end, I figured I’d just start typing and see what developed. There is also a small part of me that wouldn’t want Carlos to be disappointed in me. You know, just in case there is an ever after, and he’s watching.

This tribute is something Carlos would have absolutely loved. You may know, but I cant stress enough how much writing these stories, and receiving any feedback meant to him. So us filling the space he occupied on January 1st, with our stories and memories in whatever way, would light him up. I could never imagine I’d be saying goodbye to him so soon. I always brushed away talk of this very thing because let’s face it – to complete the CJ stories, Carlos would have to be immortal, and I was very okay with that. It was something that had been joked about many times.

Our friendship started with an email. I was new to GA, and Carlos was one of the people I felt brave enough to reach out to. It seems so long ago now. Carlos was writing chapter nine of Winter, and in responding to my PM, happened to ask if I knew who the tea drinker was. (It was Bradley) In talking about his story and him asking for feedback on things, the subsequent months found us discussing how he dreamt up his characters and plotted those scenes. As you know, Carlos kept it close to the vest. He gave up just enough to keep us coming back for more. Yet, no matter how unconventional or implausible the exploits of the players, it seemed like there was always something connecting us to the story. I imagine whatever that was, it was different for everyone.

Before long, we were sharing parts of ourselves without even realizing it. We built a stupid, funny, lasting friendship in the most unconventional way. Phone conversations would usually start, “Hey, old man,” and he’d promptly respond, “Fuck you, I’m not old.” We would then immediately start talking about our growing pains that week, doctor visits and any hint of an ache, because yes, we both clowned about feeling the advancement of age. He always won because he was a decade older. His dad and my mum had the same chronic illness, so we were each other’s empathizer. We also allowed ourselves time to vent about the role reversal, as we were now the caretakers of our parents. Swapping stories helped us laugh at ourselves, which helped ease some of the strain.

As I am writing this the day after Christmas, I feel it necessary to point out that I also would have won for Christmas gifting this year. A photo book, “Streets Of Fire” showcasing The Boss himself is coming out. It would have been the best gift. Carlos and I met in person for the first time when he came to New York for his 60th birthday, and the Springsteen concert was the highlight of that trip. He was buzzing for days afterwards. He might have ended up with more than one copy since we all knew how much he loved Bruce Springsteen, but I call winner.

That NY trip solidified our friendship. It was as if we’d known each other our whole lives instead of a couple years, and only through the exchange of emails and text. His reaction to meeting me will forever live in my brain. With that, I forgot to be shy and awkward, and my anxiety took a back seat, as I was welcomed into his friend circle like a found little sister. I couldn’t, nor did I really have the time to feign resentment about that.

I didn’t know in those first moments, what to expect. But throughout the day, parts of the man I was interacting with in person, were recognizable to me from our exchanges. He was so funny, gentle, kind, and yes, full of it. I groaned and rolled my eyes so many times and joined his friends in ganging up on him because of it. It was uncanny the number of times he was called a-hole, and he proudly owned it. He was awful with the dad jokes, reminding us it was actually "daddy" jokes. We laughed a lot that day. He was also a little protective of me that day. Roaming around the city, he always had eyes on me, made sure I wasn’t feeling left out, and always drawing me in, much to his friends’ consternation. Once he realized I was fitting right in, he got less clingy. He made sure to point out every young stud who looked his way. There was only one who we could say definitively, was staring, but that just made the case for everyone else. Carlos was loud, and boisterous with no hint of pretense. That time with him was some of the best fun I've had. He also gave the best hugs. The big guy with the tough exterior, wearing his leather and showing off his tats, was in fact a teddy bear. He played and talked a tough game, but I think his soft, warm and fuzzy side, was the worst kept secret.

His genuine nature, exuberance, generosity and unapologetic self, are some of the parts of him which exist in his writing. In all his stories, his comments and forum chats, you can catch a glimpse of that man, woven through all the grandiose and excess of his characters. I will not mention Carlos’ penchant for romance lest he haunts me somehow. The bits and pieces of himself left behind in his stories means that we only have to revisit them, to bring him to life. He was fierce in his convictions. He had strong opinions on everything, but he was also patient, and fair, and always willing. If he believed in you or any cause for that matter, there was nothing he wouldn’t try to make it better.

To you, my dear Carlos.

You were a good and solid friend. If I didn’t say it enough, or somehow you missed it, I appreciated you. I am so thankful that we crossed paths. You were a steady presence, and I will never forget your advice, care and guidance. It has been the best time tagging along for a bit of our life’s journey. Thank you, C, for all the laughs. Thank you for sharing your heart. Thank you for accepting this quirky, weird, introverted girl as she was, and loving her anyway. You’ve been a reassuring shoulder to lean and cry on. No matter what was going on we knew we could count on each other. Thank you for introducing me to and gifting me the friendship of your best friend. She’s been checking in and it has served me well these past months. You have no one to blame now, because you left, so again I win the “she loves me more” contest.

Thank you for trusting me with your ideas. I loved listening to your brainstorming. Your explanations how things would play out, without giving away the plot or key storylines, are some of the most confusing times of my life. You always were a good tease when it came to your stories. I think all your friends and readers now know how extensive and far ahead you planned for the CJ-verse. I wish I knew what was scribbled in those notebooks you were so secretive about. I wish we had more time so we could finish the conservation stories with Liebe. Thank you for supporting my attempts at writing. Your positive responses, eager red pen, and sometimes not so subtly worded commentary encouraged me to try harder. I promise to get back to it.

Today, January 1st, would have marked 200 days since you’ve been gone.

In 200 days, there were no texts telling me to check my email as it would be worth my while. (all guesses are correct) No random reminders that Sean, my favorite redhead, was thinking about me. No spoiling me with chapters so I didn’t fall too far behind. No ridiculous arguments involving CJ, Caesar and Doc and our rival basketball and football teams. No more suggestions on wines we should try (and by we, I mean mostly me). No stories involving you riding your Harley. Two wheels rule the soul, right? Those were some good stories, and I know there was more.

In 200 days, I haven’t woken you up from a nap, only for you to gruffly say you’ll call back and then forget. I miss that gruff voice so much. No proof of life texts either, because you forgot your phone in the saddle bag and was not checking email.

Since you’ve been gone, Carlos, the space that you occupied in my heart is still overwhelmed with grief. Most days, I can’t imagine that you’re not here. I recall our conversations with a mix of sadness and comfort. I’ve laughed out loud a few times too. Since you’ve been gone, I swear I think about you more often. So much has happened, and I know we would just have to talk about it. *cough..George Santos..cough* I tell you I miss you and I love you often. I hope wherever you are, you can hear me.

Now that I’ve run out of steam, I realise writing this was not as impossible as I’d thought. I think the harder part will be figuring out how to post this.

Until we see each other again dear friend, rest easy. I hope you know how much you were loved and how well you are remembered.