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today i saw my friend aron.

maybe a year and a half ago, this wouldn't be a big deal. but now it is huge.

aron is in a coma.

he took accutain to curb some not-so-bad acne. he is a cute gay boy who is naturally concerned about his looks.

i feel like i should be saying "he was..."

he had a bad reaction to the drug, as many, many people do. his was muscular deterioration. inability to breathe on his own. hospitalization. my friend k8, through whom i met aron, would visit him a lot. he didn't want visitors, really, because he didn't want people to see him in that state. he couldn't move, he couldn't eat, and he couldn't breathe.

i was never *great* friends with him but if we met on the street we'd be able to get into decent conversations. i wanted to see him, let him know that i cared. i thought i could write him a letter. i never did.

that was maybe 4 months ago. he got better, to a certain extent, and was transferred to a palative care center. physical rehabilitation, what not.

he went into cardiac arrest one day. it took 40 minutes to resuccitate him. and he's been in a coma ever since.

just when it looked like he was getting better.

he can't move, he can't eat, he can't breathe.

he also can't talk, and he can't think.

he has pneumonia.

when i think of aron, i think of the boy at buddies, this gay club i go to. or used to go to. i think of him dancing in big pants, telling stories with such flair, and being hilarious.

i saw him tonight, just his head above the bedsheet, the only part of his body that seemed remotely real. his eyes rolled back and forth. we talked to him over the hiss of the trach tube helping him breathe, the beep of the monitor, and tried not to look at the nasal feeding tube, the two waste tubes, and the other suction tube, perhaps taking liquid from his lungs.

we talked about karaoke. movies. stuff. i wanted him to come to life.

i felt far too calm when i left. i bought a bus ticket to go home for the holidays, and thought about his jewish family trying to have a normal hannukah. his father and brother, with his features. after i had to speak (in order to buy the ticket) my knees could not stop shaking. i stood on the corner waiting for the streetcar and looked up at the hospital windows. critical care unit, top floor.

and now i'm crying, because i know that he won't come to life. even if there was some kind of miracle, he would not be aron. he wouldn't be dancing, smoking, laughing, being so smart and hilarious.

he's 23.

when people are sick, you expect them to get better.

some people just don't get better.