were written by people I’d never met and whom he’d never spoken about,
people who were extolling his various virtues now that he was dead,
even though I knew for a fact they hadn’t seen him in months and had made no effort to visit him.
I wondered if my wall would look like this if I died,
or if I’d been out of school and life long enough to escape widespread memorialization.
I kept reading. “I miss you already, bro. I love you, Augustus. God bless and keep you. You’ll live forever in our hearts, big man.”
(That particularly galled me, because it implied the immortality of those left behind:
“You will live forever in my memory, because I will live forever! I AM YOUR GOD NOW, DEAD BOY! I OWN YOU!”
Thinking you won’t die is yet another side effect of dying.)
“You were always such a great friend I’m sorry I didn’t see more of you after you left school, bro.
I bet you’re already playing ball in heaven.”
I imagined the Augustus Waters analysis of that comment: “If I am playing basketball in heaven,
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