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Good Luck with Allll That

It's not just that we had so many inside jokes and references that only we had any hope of understanding, it's that we had our own fucking language. On more than one occasion, late at night, we filled either Junior or Aaliyah with some of Alex's finest, and whichever guest of the week was over partaking with us (because Keyur was always so inclusive), would try to have a conversation. Unfortunately, in that state of mind, at that time of night, Keyur and I would just slip into secret code mode and just talk to each other, about anything and everything, completely oblivious to anyone else in the room, who had no idea what we were talking about anyway. The first time my brother and Sabrina came over, one of the first things they said to me was, "You guys talk exactly the same". You're goddamn right we did.

(I wonder if heaven has broadband? If not, they do now)

Despite his inhabiting the role that we all put on him as the buffoon. Despite the everyday verbal slips and phyiscal clutziness, he was a genius. I know his conversational language mistakes made for much hilarity, but also I know he beat me at Scrabble, twice. And I don't know shit about programming but I know he got job offers from Microsoft, Apple and JPL. And I know he turned them all down to stay close to his parents.

I tended to underestimate how fiercely he cared about me. About everyone really. The joy of others was his joy. Their pain was his. I liked that we were opposites in all the right ways. Our minds just sort of fit together. The only thing we didn't see eye to eye on was the appropriate level of pulp in the orange juice. I'm glad I took the chance to room with him when everyone else seemed to be a little wary of him. I think it took them longer to see how consciously he tried to better himself, how hard he worked to change the things people found annoying, over zealous and intrusive about him. I really hated when, in a group of people, Keyur would talk or laugh really loudly and everyone would look at him as if he had just committed some heinous crime. I'd quitely seethe at the looks and the eye-rolls that he would get if he was ever just a little louder than everyone else. So what if he laughs loudly you sanctimonious fuck. Who the fuck are you? Just because he laughs loudly you hold him in some sort of social contempt? You have no fucking idea about the greatness of that laugh. Because his laugh was something else, something unique, like he was unafraid to show the world his happiness. Like he was expressing the joy for everyone who was afraid to at that moment. Damn right it was loud. His laugh could make an average joke into an uplifting experience. It could fill an entire room with its brightness. It could shatter windows and break down doors. It could force its way into the coldest of places and fill it with warmth. I wish I could hear that laugh again, that laugh that could tear through the sky with its power, parting the clouds and ripping the blueness apart. I wish I could reach up through that hole in the sky, past this fucking world. Past all the bullshit. Past all the little stresses of everyday life, past all the gas prices and credit card payments. Past all the gossip and pretention. Past all the traffic jams and football scores. I wish I could reach up past all of that, and, even if just for a second...I wish I could bring my friend back.