He would have been 28 today.

One year, One week and a coule of days ago:

"Abbott?" "Hmmm?" "What do you want for your birthday?" "......Nookie." "No seriously. What do you want?" "Nookie." "Okay how about what do you want that I can give you?" "Tiny nookie." "Gah! Seriously! What do you want that I can give you that doesn't involve me giving you nookie?" "Other nookie." "*exasperated sigh* What can I give you that costs less than a month's pay?" "Nookie." "Cookie?" "Nice try." "Abbott?" "Hmmm?" "You're a freak" "I love you too." Last year, I had no idea what to give Abbott for his birthday. I certainly wasn't going to give him any nookie, but I couldn't think of anything else to give him. I didn't want to go buy a cheesy generic present, but I also didn't want to give him anything too personal (especially not nookie). I sat there, asking myself, "What does Abbott want? What does he always say he wants? What has he pointed to and said 'birthday!'? " Out of the blue, I remembered the classic phrase Abbott would tack onto almost everything he talked about wanting to do: "but I don't have enough time." Abbott was insanely busy. He worked full time at the store, went to eighty billion Kung Fu classes every week, was finishing up his Master's degree at UNLV, had a theater group, had a girlfriend and spent a bunch of time with his best friend Mike and Mike's family. He always talked about how he never had any time that was just his own: he was always running from one activity to the next with no time to relax. Thyme. Thyme was relatively inexpensive and I knew Abbott would love it. He would know what I meant and would appreciate the sentiment. Perfect. On his birthday, I hung out at the store with him for a while and waited until he was off and then when he had pulled up to the parking space in front of my apartment (he gave me a ride home), I gave him his present. "Oooh, a present!" he said in a little-boy voice, and ripped off the paper. "What the," he started, looking at the bottle of Thyme blankly for a second and then turned on the dome light in his land rover. "THYME!! YOU ROCK!!" "I knew you wanted some of your very own," I wheezed, while my lungs getting squished in his hug. "I love it! Hang on a sec," he said and grabbed his phone. He made me stay in the car while he called his girlfriend to tell her about his first birthday present (I'm sure it was a call she loved getting). After he hung up the phone, he pulled me into another hug. "You are my favorite" he said, smothering me in his big bear arms, "Now get out, I gotta go meet Lindsey." I hopped down, out of the rover and then walked up the path to the apartment. He waved his hand out of his window and then screeched out of the parking lot, leaving only the light from his tail lights in the darkness. The irony of the gift isn't lost on me. Almost exactly two months later, the accident happened and Abbott was gone. I still remember thinking to myself, not long after the accident, "why didn't it work?" *** It's so stupid. I've known this day would come. I've known his birthday would be hard, especially with it being the day after the ten month mark of the accident. And even though I knew his birthday was today I've been mostly fine all day. I had the day off. I requested it months ago, thinking that I would be a mess, but pretty much I've been good. I was startled at my lack of mess... but now that I'm sitting here, I can feel it. The Sadness. I've been going through the same thought process that I went through last year: "What can I give Abbott?" How can I celebrate his birthday in a way that will matter? Abbott was intensely important in my life, I didn't want to let his birthday go by without doing something. So I voted. You can laugh all you want. Even I chuckle at it, because like the Thyme I gave him last year, it is so simple and yet, if he were still here, I know he would "get it." Abbott was a huge fan of using one's voice. He was always telling me to use mine. He believed in acting, not analyzing. He believed in forcing change and I know that by casting my vote, by using my voice today--even in such a simple way--he would be proud. Okay he would roll his eyes and call me a cheeseball. But he would give me that look, that look that means "I get it, and that is why I think you're cool" that look that good friends give each other, because good friends just know. I miss him.