My Friend Kenneth
By Michael Woyan
Page 1 sex Page 2 drugs Page 3 sin Page 4 lust Page 5 envy Page 6 fortune Page 7 evil Page 8 pirate Page 9 thief

Page 9
The month went by very quickly, with Ken having to spread his time between lots of people who wanted bid him adieu. We had time together, but never enough to resolve anything of any importance. As a matter of fact, we never actually discussed anything of weight at all. Then about a week before his scheduled departure it became clear to me that he had no intention of ever saying good-bye to me. So it came to pass that the evening before his flight there was going to be reception of sorts for him downstairs at The Old Town Ale House. I didn't invite the girlfriend who was the teacher with the substance problem, but my roommate Todd was dating her girlfriend who was in attendance and reported to her directly that I was kissing the other woman in my sadness of the day's loss to come. Kenneth, however, held court in fine form.
The following morning, the last that Kenneth would spend stateside, I awoke to him and his friends drinking bloody marys in my kitchen carrying on in a lively way. The phone rang for me and it was the schoolteacher, the woman with whom I'd told I only wanted to be friends to help her through her difficult time, screaming at me in full fury about how I'd wronged her by kissing a woman I wanted to kiss the night of my regret. I'm holding the phone away from my face in confusion as to why I should care about any of this at all, when everyone left the apartment at once. I hung up, threw the phone against the wall thinking that Kenneth had left forever without my having an opportunity to say my good-byes, regardless of his wishes. I was heartbroken. I thought about pouring myself an angry drink and then thought better of it. Then I decided to sit in front of my computer and put my thoughts to paper. In a flurry of emotional excess and release, I wrote this, in a single draft:

Fare Thee Well
A thousand toasts
of words not really found
Love known
not needing to be expressed
The fullness of expression
in everydays together
Rich emotional ambiguity
Like children, should not be bound
My sadness about your leaving
is but a fraction of my gladness for having you here
Shared smiles
Many miles
that bring us to this day
What's been done
is now undone
and we end up where we started
Refreshed for another journey
This one richer for the nourishment
in knowing that we've given more than we've taken
It's a gift this next step we take
We get to hope for
"until we meet again"
Love and live thee well
my imperfect mirror man
For the room that you enter is a bit brighter
for all of us that aren't there with you
It is us that was blessed
and that blessing is the shadow
which makes this step sure and true.


Just as I completed the final formatting, everyone including Kenneth, returned! They hadn't left after all. They just went down the street for breakfast. I printed out copies for everyone and there among these men of few words was nary a dry eye in the apartment. My good-bye was complete, without an ounce of regret for either of us. He then suggested that we all join him for a joyful Irish wake of a drink in our bar downstairs until his final retreat. It was then and there that he gave me the greatest compliment I'd ever heard from him. We raised a glass, he looked at me and said, "To the most European man I've met in America."

It was the gift of my self that Kenneth gave back to me so I could eventually create the poem to express my thoughts of him about this passage, a moment not to be missed and one that can't ever be retrieved except in memory. I've since read that this circular nature of friendship is distinctly Celtic, my awareness of which I also owe to Kenneth. Ironically, my friendship with this special Irishman also provided me with a more textured and enriched perspective of my Chicago, too.
Kenneth's epiphany did come to him at home in the west of Ireland. He and his brothers talked once about seeing apparitions at the gravesite and having conversations with Bernard in dreams. Such are the stories of magic on the Blarney Island. I have nothing to disprove them, and I'm uncertain I would want to if I could. Eventually, Kenneth recovered from Bernard's passing, but I think America became a bit less interesting for him after that. He languished in London for a year or two, had some small successes in the European currency markets, but I suspect Kenneth began to like London less when he ceased to be a guest. He's now following a trail of formidable crumbs left by the "Celtic Tiger" of economic prosperity, providing Internet service to businesses in the west of Ireland. I've recovered, too. My Mother found her peace in passing; my brother found his in recovery and in a new life.
The day that Kenneth left for Ireland that last time, I knew that things would never again be the same. In fact, they never were. In the time since my friend Kenneth left many things have changed. Owned now by real estate speculators, Old Town has become less interesting, the Ale House less friendly and the demographic more homogeneous. A few years later I moved out of Old Town in the wake of these changes. But the relevance of what was learned there during our coming of age has not been one of them. We only get what we give in this world. I'm convinced that no one is going to love us until we do some loving first. Usually it doesn't cost us a nickel. Kenneth used to say that there are no dress rehearsals in the theater of living, but only a single main performance. I am infinitely grateful that I didn't miss mine with him.

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