A couple of days ago, I began to wonder about Alex Langley. I don’t think I’ve mentioned Alex on here before: he was an old school friend. He had fairly severe cp, and we went to primary and middle school together. Alex was included in mainstream after that, so we parted ways, but we used to see each other around town from time to time. He was a good man, a good laugh. Very bright.

Lying in bed two or three nights ago, I suddenly thought about him. I wondered what he would think of my MA. I googled him, without luck, before asking one of our old teachers if she knew where he was. This morning, I got a reply: he passed away about ten years ago. I know you could say I shouldn’t feel it because we had hardly seen each other, but it still hurts; getting news of the death of someone so bight and so young hurts like hell. I had expected Alex to have been to uni; he was a big trekkie, and I wondered what he’d say about my thesis. I expected him to jokingly rubbish it. That conversation, that catch-up between old friends, won’t happen now; knowing that fucking hurts.