Alfred was an idiot. That's not the best way to start off a memorial. I don't mean it. Well honestly, I do, but he wasn't an idiot in the traditional sense. He was not stupid, he was stupidly brave. Heroic, strong, goofy, clueless, horrendous at reading the atmosphere, but not stupid. He always wanted to be the hero. His fascination with super-heroes and movie protagonists was both a bit frightening and childishly sweet. He always wanted to do the right thing and help others. Even if they didn't necessarily need or want his help. We had no money for our electric bill one month because he gave his entire paycheck to a homeless girl he met in the park.
Despite his flaws I loved him. Somehow, even when I hated him, I still loved him. Every meal that I made, he would eat a few bites of before refusing to eat more, claiming that it was surely classified as torture in some countries. He made fun of some of my hobbies. We fought over the stupidest things. However, he could be so sweet it amazed me. He would go out of his way to please me and when he tried to be romantic, he really tried. Sure, it generally ended in disaster, but he attempted anyway.
When Alfred was young he wanted to be in the American Air Force, just like his father. His father was killed when he was nine, not in any war, but in the midst of a bank robbery gone badly awry. When Alfred was prescribed glasses at the age of eleven, he could no longer join the Air Force like he had planned to. He was quite upset over this. But as young children are apt to do, he recovered quickly. As he attended more and more school, he became entranced with math and science. When he graduated from high school as valedictorian, he went on to M.I.T.
He double majored in business and chemical engineering. It was a few years after college that we met. I had gone to the University of Cambridge, where I majored in journalism. I moved to the United States a year after I completed university. We met a year after this in a bookstore. He was wandering the science fiction section when I bumped into him on my way to get to the fiction section. The suddenness of the impact was enough to send him stumbling against a nearby bookshelf. I rapidly apologised, hoping to get away quickly. I had no such luck. When he turned to look at me, I was quickly struck silent by his sky-blue eyes. With a huge grin, he reassured me that it was totally fine. He then made a rude comment about my eyebrows. They are rather on the large side, something I am quite sensitive about. I quickly called him a git and began to stomp away, but he caught up to me and apologised, calling my eyebrows 'cute'.
He then introduced himself as Alfred F. Jones with the same blinding grin I came to love. I similarly introduced myself and he promptly found a way to mutilate it, insisting on addressing me as Artie or Iggy. I didn't even bother to ask how he got Iggy from Arthur. After a bit more small talk, he asked for my phone number. I wrote it down for him, and he did the same for me. Rubbing the back of his neck, Alfred asked if I'd like to go to dinner with him that night, on a date. Raising an eyebrow, I pretended to contemplate it. It was a very pleasing idea to me. However, he took my silence as a refusal and began hemorrhaging apologies for assuming I was gay. With a laugh, I assured him it was fine and that I would rather like going to dinner.
At dinner that night he informed me of his dreams, which included setting up his own company, his preferences, such as he thought that coffee was far superior to tea, and asked me many questions. It was a success in my eyes, and I suppose in his as well, for we continued to go out. We had been dating for about a year when Alfred achieved one of his dreams. His company, which had previously just consisted of him, became profitable enough for him to hire two employees, Toris and Kiku, and rent an office for headquarters. What his business did is a bit hard to describe, but the best way I can say it is that they developed plans to improve manufacturing and also worked on improving sustainable energy. As for me, I was working for The New York Times, a job I greatly enjoyed.
We had been dating for about three years when Alfred proposed. It was not the most romantic proposal ever. We were standing in the kitchen of our apartment. Well, he was carefully sautéing a pan of peppers and onions and I was scrubbing dishes in the sink, looking out at the view of the New York skyline. He casually asked me what I thought of marriage. I replied that it depended on the people in question. For example, there was no chance of our friend Francis getting married, but I could see Feliciano and Ludwig or Matthew and Katyusha getting married. Pulling my hands out of the water and drying them, I went and leaned on the counter next to him. Taking a deep breath, Alfred put the spoon he was using down and turned to face me. He knelt and pulled out a small dark blue box. I can remember his next words exactly. "How about you and me getting married?" I was speechless for a few seconds before I pulled him to his feet and responded with an enthusiastic yes. He slipped the ring onto my finger. It was a white gold band with a small emerald embedded next to a sapphire of the same size. It is one of my happiest memories.
He later told me he knew that we couldn't get married in the United States, but we could, if I wanted, go to Canada. Or we could wait for a state to recognise same-sex marriage. He said he had just wanted to make sure that we were, in his words, "100% together, for as long as possible". I told him I'd like to wait until a state recognised it, just in case we went all the way to Canada just for it not to be valid in New York. I loved him with all of my heart and I didn't even care if we couldn't get married at the moment.
A year passed and we were still unable to get married. On the bright side, Alfred's company was doing extremely well. He was on several newspapers' lists of companies to watch. He was thrilled beyond belief. As we were lying in bed one night, he whispered that he didn't think his life could be much better. The next morning he went off to work. It was a cloudless day, and I decided to go for a walk, as I had the day off. When I returned home, there was a blinking light on our answering machine. Hitting the play back button, I put some water on to boil.
"Hey Artie! It's just me, Alfred. I'm calling to let you know that Feliciano and Ludwig want to get together with us tomorrow. I suggested dinner. Anyway, I better get back to work. I love you lots! Bye!"
I didn't delete the message. I couldn't tell you why. As the water boiled I got out a mug and a tea bag. Pouring the hot water into the mug emblazoned with the Union Jack, I grabbed my favourite book, Good Omens, and settled in to re-read it. The ringing of the telephone quickly put an end to this. I answered, figuring it was Alfred. I can remember the conversation with startling clarity.
"Arthur?" It was Kiku, one of Alfred's first employees and close friends.
"Yes Kiku, it is I. How are you?"
"I am well, thank you. Arthur, I recommend you come to the office. Or you could go straight to New York Presbyterian Hospital. Alfred… has been in an accident." I hung up right away, not caring about my rudeness at the moment. Grabbing my overcoat and keys, I flew out of the apartment.
By the time I arrived at New York Presbyterian Hospital, half an hour had passed. Kiku and Toris, another one of Alfred's friends and employees, were waiting for me. They silently led me to Alfred's room. He was laying on one of the same sterile-looking white bed found in hospitals everywhere. There were machines attached to him with long wires that disappeared under his sheets. His usually tanned skin somehow seemed duller, and his ever-present glasses were gone. According to Kiku, Alfred had been crossing the street when some imbecile hit him. They left me alone in the room with him. I sat in the uncomfortable chair to his left and grasped his hand, silently begging him to be okay. I didn't notice I was crying until a tear hit my hand. It was then that the tightness that had been building in my chest since Kiku's call became too much and I began to sob.
He died an hour later. Internal bleeding they said. The moron who had hit him apologised thousands of times, but I heard nothing. I wandered home in a trance. It was there that I completely broke down. The sight of Alfred's favourite mug sent me into hysterics. His collection of comic books nearly sent me to my knees. When I remembered the message on the machine, I played it over and over again, eventually falling asleep to Alfred's cheery "I love you lots!"
It has been almost two years since Alfred passed away. All I've done is bury myself deeper into my work. On May 17th, Massachusetts became the first state to legalize same-sex marriages in the United States. I looked down at my ring when I heard and began to tear up yet again. On the first anniversary of Alfred's death, I made a pot of his favourite coffee and looked at our photos. I tried not to cry. I did not succeed.