Me and Paul (Brian Katcher)

 

I remember the day I met you. We were both sixteen. My friends and I were going to visit the newly-renovated St. Louis Science museum, and someone said they invited Paul. I was thinking of another guy named Paul I didn't especially like, so I was happy when a stranger showed up instead. You were on crutches, you'd injured your leg running track.

You fell in with the group immediately. I think you could have gotten along with any group of people. You were that kind of guy. You never knew a stranger. You were everyone's pal. In thirty years, I don't think I remember you ever being mad at anyone.

You introduced us all to Japanese cartoons. In a decade when very few Americans knew the word 'anime,' you turned us on to all kinds of great movies. 

You were my first college roommate. University of Missouri, Columbia. God, we were going to conquer the world. All the women we were going to meet...

I remember we went on that double date. You set me up with that girl from West Virginia. I think the only one who screwed up that date more than me was you.

You'd always beat me at chess. You could always think five moves ahead. I also remember that time that guy brought that taser to the dorm room, and you managed to tase yourself within five minutes.

You were a legend when it came to video games. In the 90s, the big cabinet machines were popular, and you were almost instantly great at whatever you tried. People would stand around just watching you. When you ran out of money, people would give you quarters just to see you in action. I can't count the number of braggarts you put in their place. If you'd been born twenty years later, you really could have made it as a Youtuber.

That first spring break, you and me and Mark drove out to Colorado Springs. 

You couldn't make my wedding because of work, but you were at my bachelor party (that's the picture up there). I'm sure we had fun, but I don't remember much about that night.

The last time I saw you was during COVID. You were passing through and stopped by my house. We sat on the porch and talked (social distancing, of course). 

A couple of years ago I got a call from a friend saying you had had a stroke at 48. I drove out the next day to say my goodbyes. I have to tell you, that was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I hope you were able to hear me.

I was bitter, but the sheer number of people who came out from other states just to see you off says a lot about you. You got the old high school/college gang back together again. I don't know if any of us could have done that.

You stopped using social media a few years ago, while I relied on it as my only communication with my friends. When you passed, I checked my last text message from you. You were saying how you hoped we could get together soon.

The message was three years old. I'll never forgive myself for that.