Dorothy.

About 8 years ago it was the best decision I ever made, to carry on conversation with a fellow classmate and give him a ride home. He was an intellectual. He was the grand master of people watching. I never saw his dad his mom was working a night shift, his home life was not supportive for his needs and aspirations. He stayed with another friend. Upon going up to his guest room there I saw stacks of notebooks about 30 or so filled front to back. He used to say preach writing and fiber at that point in time. He was one of those people that everyone knew was a genius but always struggled scholastically. He struggled with religion an extremist. Would send me Christopher Hitchens Debates, William Lane Craig also look up Carl Sagan's theory of the cosmos and wonder how that would apply to the bible. We would talk about Noam Chomsky and his ideas on Slave Wager, skim through Pascal, he was a walking encyclopedia. With the most impulsive as well as explosive personality. He was multifaceted and always curious about getting to know people. If he couldn't understand why they tick he would start conversation with them. Wittingly extracting information that people sometimes never hear for years.

I called him Dorothy while he was out in Kansas as a Philosophy major. He had a lot of things going on, we would talk a few times a week. Cramming conversation in on drives to work, continuing open ended thought on never ending facebook chats.

He became the drama friend as well, every time he called for a while there was always something wrong, sometimes poor decisions other times, I have no idea how things got so complicated. It was like that for over a year. I began to just accept it as a Phil call, would almost laugh about it cause there was about to be a rationalized witty oh-****, oh-****, oh-****, conversation about to be had.

He called me around 4 a.m. from a hospital unsure of what happened to him. He thought his drink was screwed with. He just remembered puking out blood in a cornfield about twenty minutes from the bar he was at. Still confused and without much support he called me. Living in another state I was not sure how to help. I was as equally confused as he was as I listened to his brain churn trying to put together missing pieces of the night.

Needing money for school he was doing medical trials for a short period, my presumption was he drank to soon after the trials leading to his potassium levels to be extremely low. He was heart broken in High School, heart ripped apart. Always was against relationships said he would never get married.

From Facebook I saw relationship status's with different Library's over the years. When he started dating a girl, I was floored. Until hearing, "She is gets her grown woman on does what she needs I do what I need." I talked to him a few days after New Years. It was the first conversation in a long time that was positive, there was nothing about his old apartment, dental issues, medical trials, no waking up in fields spitting up blood. I talked to his girlfriend for a brief period. He said things were going well, all of the problems that I couldn't even think of a solution to seemed to disappear. I assumed mostly due to the social circumstance. He was with her and I was in a car with a group of guys coming home from a snowboarding trip.

We ended the conversation short.

I had missing calls from a mutual friend, that I haven't talked to in years. Then on facebook messages, "Please CALL ME BACK MIKE."

Moments later, I was walking downstairs on the phone with Alexis, "Phil's dead."

My closest friend killed himself. I think about him everyday, I know everything he was going through. His family his mom that knew nothing about his sons life began to come to me for answers. A bunch of people came to me for answers. I could sit down and give a linear pattern of **** that repeated and fallowed him since the first day I gave him a ride home. Nothing would have added up to this.

I don't understand what happened to his notebooks. No one else knew about them, they were not found?...

This is where I have nothing to say.
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22-25, M
May 3, 2013