est. 1973

We were both exhausted and angry. You had fled to your friend’s apartment in Brooklyn and I was contemplating whether I’d go back to Virginia—our summer plans suddenly foiled.

As the seventh track “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” ended I realized I was in tears. I played it a few more times in succession and could not stop crying. I had never heard a song that so perfectly mirrored what I was feeling. It sounded like something I’d write in my sleep, if I could find the words to articulate what I was trying to suppress. “Maybe I’m too young to keep good love from going wrong, but tonight you’re on my mind so you never know.” You were on my mind the rest of that night, just as Buckley had sung. I fought the urge to give you a call. We desperately needed space from each other.

I listened to that song almost every day for a whole month. With every listen my understanding of the lyrics became clearer, but the burden of that awareness was closing in. On nights where I wondered what you were doing, I left my apartment and wandered around the city hoping to see you. There were nights when I was desperately trying to fill the void that you had lovingly etched into me long ago, but the way you loved was too distinct. There was no way of replicating it, and believe me I’ve tried countless times. My pathetic attempts were laughable. Distracting myself was not enough anymore. I only wanted you.

Even in my final hours, when I was languidly laid out on that unfamiliar, uncomfortable mattress in New Jersey, I thought of you and that damn song. I used whatever strength and sense I had left use the phone. I did call, in my last wretched attempt, asking if you’d come and see me. Or, at least wait for me back in New York. I would’ve gone straight to Brooklyn if you had said yes. I’d find any way to get there. As soon as our phone call ended, I began accepting our fate. I still wasn’t sure whether I’d be alive long enough to get out of that apartment, but I knew that I needed to start the process of letting you go. If I did make it out alive, I had to be okay with moving on without you.

I hope you never doubt that I loved you. Even in this unknown afterlife, where I can still think and feel, I still do. If I hadn’t left, I would have married you the second we could afford it. I loved hearing you insist that you’d hyphenate your name. Vivian Mullen-Montclair… I loved the sound of that. I’d even change my name to Mason Mullen (though we both agreed it sounded terrible). I didn’t care as long as we’d have done it. The wedding, the house, the kids, the life…

Yet, as I often do, I ruined things. I was selfish and found myself choosing wrong again and again. I was choosing Julian (for the wrong reasons), even though we all knew that would never be; I was choosing to host friends when you desperately needed a sanctuary to study or unwind; I was choosing to stay out all night when you needed me to call to make sure I was alright; and I was choosing anger over compromise, when I thought I was in the right and protecting myself. From what? I don’t know... You were harmless. “All problems can be solved in this lifetime,” Julian always told me. It really could have… Even Jeff Buckley knew:

“It’s never over…”

So, I say this, sincerely and tremendously, I am so sorry, Viv. For not being honest, for failing to use my words, for not looking out for your peace of mind, for being selfish… If I was blessed with a few more days, I would have said this to you in person. Even if I knew it would be the last time I’d see you and we’d both go on living our lives never crossing each other’s paths ever again. But I hope you’re hearing me, somehow, even though I’m not with you anymore. I’m not sure if you’ll ever know how truly sorry I am and how much I wish I had time to make things right—with you, and everyone else I hurt.

And as I looked down and witnessed my own funeral, the song crossed my mind again. The first two lines becoming just as relevant as the rest of the song, almost as if it was all coming full circle. I knew it well enough to play it over in my head from beginning to end. I looked at you every time Buckley sang “Lover, you should’ve come over.”

But you probably made the right choice that night. There was nothing either of us could do, anyway. I was dead by morning, and you slept in after worrying all night, missing the train you needed to catch to be on time for work. I’m sorry, Viv.