Oh gosh, I just started thinking, I don't live all that far away from where Heath lived actually, in the city and Brooklyn.
I was always thinking someday I would see him walking around somewhere in the city, and I would have a great story to tell everyone here.
I can't believe now that it will never happen.
I can't believe that it is all real.
I live two blocks from the place he and Michelle bought in Brooklyn. When I got off the subway just a bit ago, I walked past it. I'd seen a guy with a big video camera near the subway station and figure he was there shooting something related to Heath's death. Was surprised that there weren't more paparazzi around. I only noticed a handful. There were a couple standing around the nursing home across the street, and I thought I saw a few on the house side of the street. I was on the other side of the street and passed a couple with cameras. I noticed they watched me as I passed. That felt like the longest two blocks I've ever walked because I was trying to get home before I started crying. The subway ride felt long too. At one point, I thought I was going to throw up.
I got a notion to go by the place in Manhattan where he died, but there doesn't seem to be a point to it. Besides, I don't want to have to deal with the hordes of people probably there. I might go by tomorrow on my way into work. Maybe the next day.
I saw him once in my neighborhood. He was pushing Matilda in a stroller, and we met up at the corner of the street. He was dressed way down, t-shirt and sweat pants and had on sunglasses. His hair was in something of a fro, bedhead. I didn't recognize him at first, but I noticed he was tall and attractive and tried to be subtle about checking out this cute guy. It wasn't until we went our separate ways that it hit me who he was. I turned around for another look and felt pretty giddy.
I'm kinda embarrassed to admit it, but whenever I would walk by his and Michelle's place, I would always look at the house, glance in the windows as I passed, hoping for a glimpse, notice the empty water cooler bottles, the bags of recycling set out, what kinds of cars were parked nearby. This past year, the house was painted a nice shade that looks gray in some light, green in others. Before, it had been an ugly, dull yellow. I thought about leaving a note on the door telling them how great the new color was.
I told myself that it was stupid for me to be all starstruck, that I was not special to them the way they were to me. Just walk on by and deal with your life and business. But I would still look. It made me happy. Maybe that's one reason why his death has hit me so hard.