He used to ask me. All the time. Every day the question would come. When I expected it, and when I didn’t. I could always count him to ask me: “Are you okay?”
And the answer would usually be the same. “Yes, I’m okay.” Even when I wasn’t. And he would know. He had the gift of knowing how I felt. Now there is only a shape left after him.
He doesn’t ask as much anymore. Sometimes, but not like before. Of course, not like before. Nothing is what it used to be.
Now that he is no longer the one asking, I found myself directing the question at people around me. A friend at work, someone I am just getting to know, acquaintances. Every time it rolls off my tongue, I think of him. And I want to ask him.
Are you okay?
November 2, 2015