text: The thing about death is that it takes a very long time. There’s planning to be done. There’s the wake and the funeral and the food and the gifts. There’s phone calls and texts to be answered. First there are sleepless nights. Then you have the days spent staring at the ceiling. Then afternoons clearing out the house. All of this turning into weeks in your planner that you never bothered to fill out. You knew there was someone in charge of watching you. There was always someone to usher you to the church or the house or the grief counselor. How did they plan this? Mark had been hard. Knowing Mark had been hard. Losing Mark had been hard. Standing in front of the group, trying to explain how you felt about your sponsor’s untimely death. . .that was hard. But that was where Kristi was now. Trying to put it all into words. Her coffee was cold but she clutched it anyway. It was nice to have something to do with her hands. She had carefully practiced what she would say. She wasn’t going to cry. She would explain that she wanted to drink but wouldn’t. “That’s all I can do for him now. Just stay on track.” She would wax poetic about everything he did for her. “He came to my house. It was the middle of the night. He was probably risking his own sobriety to be there. . .but he brought me to this diner and he talked to me forever.” She would say a lot of things, as beautifully as she could muster. These people cared about him too, after all. They wanted answers and justice and peace as much as she did. But there were things Kristi just didn’t have the words for. And even if she had them she wasn’t ready to say them here. She wasn’t ready to use them yet. They stayed half-formed and hidden. Almost sacred to her. She didn’t know how to explain the kind of love she felt for Mark. He had become a lifeline. He had started as an annoyance. At first she wanted nothing to do with him. AA was something to do so her boyfriend wouldn’t leave her. “That relationship is doomed. You don’t want to change, so you won’t. He’ll see through it. Let’s go get some food.” She had refused. Then she got fired. “We don’t have to talk about your job. But you do need a friend right now.” She turned him down. Then it was a Tuesday. No special Tuesday. It shouldn’t have been a life altering Tuesday. But the coffee was warm when she’d shown up to the church basement. The conversation wasn’t as grating. After she’d taken her chip she walked over to Mark. She didn’t particularly like him. He was loud. He was pushy. He told fratty stories about college. But he was still there. He was still sober. He still asked her to lunch. Kristi believed in moving forward; as far as you can, as soon as you can. And today she wanted to. And today she could. So she crossed the room. “Hey, Mark? Are you hungry?” “Always!” And that had been the start. Mostly they ate. When Kristi’s boss had called her incompetent they went for steaks. When Mark’s girlfriend had left him they got burgers. Their relationship was milkshakes and pancakes and sushi and that new Indian place and the great waffle spot two towns over. But they stayed sober. Kristi had someone to call. Mark had an emergency contact. They were tied together by the most fragile of strings, but they were both dedicated to not cutting them. And that’s why she wasn’t headed to the bar right now. She wouldn’t cut the strings. Different strings. But just as fragile. Just as important. She zeroed in on their favorite coffee shop (in this neighborhood). Kristi knew what she had to do. Coffeeshop, straight home, an old Beach Body video to tire her out, bed. She just had to keep her mind busy. Today wasn’t as bad as the funeral. It wasn’t as bad as her 90 day chip. Mark would have told her not to be self-indulgent. “You don’t get to relapse because it’s poetic.” So she bee-lined. “Coffee isn’t going to do the trick today, bud. We both know that.” Kristi spun around at the voice. It was rough, like cigarettes and sporting events. Then the outfit. Gray on gray. Sweats. Then the face. Oh. She was hallucinating. “Sorry you look a lot like someone I know.” Shit. She had to get home. “Ha! I would hope so. Come on we’re getting pizza.” And he started walking away. The vision was exquisite. The person she trusted most in the world, here. He was right in front of her. His gait was the same. Cocky and slow. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair. He needed a haircut. He somehow miraculously climbed into the old Honda. The same car that she had ridden in countless times. The same car that had been scrapped last week. She got in. Of course she did. Mark was here. Mark wanted pizza. Years of alcohol abuse may have softened the mental blow of her dead best friend in the middle of the street, addressing her like it was any other day. But even if she wasn’t acutely aware of all the ways reality could blur, she would have climbed into the car. When your most important person asks you to get into the car, you get it. Even if they’re dead, apparently. She was quiet for a moment. “I suppose you have questions?” he asked kindly as he turned the ignition. Kristi was digging her finger into a hole under the seat, making sure it was still there. She checked the mirror for the old scratches. The dash for a packet of his favorite gum. All there. “Yeah. . .” “Welp. . .I’ve never been here to answer your questions. I’m here to shoot the shit and help you feel better and pay for your dinner and send you home a little better than I found you, same as always, alright?” “Mark. . .” “Same as always, ok Kristi?” She wouldn’t push. She was scared to. It was all borrowed. Hallucination or not it would end. Maybe she could lean into this. Maybe if she just sat back it wouldn’t dissolve. “Ok. Sure.” They started winding through streets. He was driving more carefully than usual. Kristi wanted to say something, but there was a wall. She felt herself welling up just a bit. She sniffled, but Mark was kind enough not to comment. “I miss you.” “I miss you too.” She broke. The tears started rolling down her cheeks. She was usually a person more prone to anger. At her lowest points Mark had rarely seen her cry. Mostly she yelled. But here she was, a blubbering mess in his Honda. He just silently reached over her into the glove compartment and handed her some napkins. “Do you know why we always get food, Kristi?” She sniffled and turned to him. “No?” she sobbed. Mark was not phased. “Dopamine. When you stop drinking your body craves it. You can’t make it right anymore. And it’ll start up again and go back to normal, but that’s why it’s so hard in the beginning. Your body doesn’t have any dopamine and your brain wants it. So you drink.” “Ok?” Mark wasn’t usually very scientific. Death had changed him, apparently. “So when we eat like we do, our brains get a little dopamine kick.” “What are you even talking about right now?” “You need dopamine. We’re gonna go eat so you don’t go drink. And the dopamine kick will help. And also probably the guilt from seeing me again. Like. . .imagine how pissed I’ll be if you drink tonight.” “How will you know?” “Shit!” Mark laughed his huge, robust laugh, “No spoilers!” It was all surreal. Mark was in a restaurant, charming the waiter. Mark was folding his pizza in half. Mark was stealing a lone pepperoni off her plate mid sentence. He was the same. He updated her on the Cubs, even though he knew she didn’t watch. He asked about her love life. “Let me play on your dating apps! You need a support system!” He wouldn’t answer her questions or explain anything. But she didn’t really push. Like when you realize you’re dreaming, but you don’t want it to end. He was here in the booth. Even if it didn’t make sense she wasn’t willing to fight it. She wasn’t ready to give it up. She interrupted him. “We need to get ice cream.” “Ok, boss.” So they stayed out. The world grew dark around them. They slowly meandered down the street. There was a pretty good place nearby. They’d been there before. “So, how long do I have you for?” She finally got the courage to ask. She was worried he would evaporate as some further punishment. “As long as you need me.” “Oh. That’s great. I’ll just keep needing you then.” “I was kind of hoping you would stop needing me after dinner.” “What?” “One day at a time, remember? Tonight will be rough. Tomorrow might be impossible. You’re always a mess at Christmas. But you’re going to do it. You’re already doing it. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it isn’t worth the adjustment.” “So why even come back?” She was red hot for a second. It felt like anger but it might have been panic. “Maybe it’s not for you.” “Just wanted to support some local businesses from beyond the grave?” It sounded more bitter than she'd meant it to. “It was for me, Kristi. I had to make sure you were okay. It’s my job, right?” “Oh.” “Yeah. And I guess I needed a dopamine kick too. Don’t get a big head about it.” “Oh. Okay then.” Mark breathed out a heavy sigh. Maybe they would just walk for a while. Just until they were ready.