I guess he’s doing ok these days. I haven’t seen him since covid messed everything up, and secondhand reports aren’t the same as looking into his eyes, hoping to see for a fleeting second that he’s still in there somewhere

I miss him every day, except Saturdays which are always crushingly big newspaper editions, making me hate him for dragging me into the business. But eventually the last page is sent, and I miss him again. Editing his magical columns. So many perfect snapshots of West Texas. Soooo many typos. I think he did that just to annoy me, given that he never failed to mercilessly crush me in Scrabble.

I realized recently that I subconsciously adoped a rick-ism. When I would ask if he wanted to go to Sonic or on a walk or to the Smokehouse, his eyes would light up and he would respond with an enthusiastic “YES!!!”

I’ve taken to exclaiming YES!!! in that same tone when Mo asks if I want something, with, of course, the exception of Brussels sprouts. It’s like having him here, but without him draining my milkshake.

I wonder what he thinks of Oregon. the trees, the rain. The pretentious baristas. I miss that drive through West Texas to see him. No breakfast tacos in Arizona.

Mike wants to team up for a road trip to see him this summer. I guess we’ll see. Road trips seem like a luxury from a long time ago.

I miss those days of sitting at a picnic table after a long hike and listening to his stories. He always had such hilarious, heartbreaking, fantastic stories. All gone. But the love’s still gotta be in there somewhere.

Somewhere.