ItÕs silly, but I wanted to grow old with Dewitt. I should have known that even if he made it through all the drugs he would have ended up dying from the cigarettes. I once had a nightmare about Dewitt. A month exactly before he died. He told me he could fly, jumping off of a huge cliff. For a moment he swooped up into the sky and then plummeted. Letting out a screech that made me wake up in a cold sweat.

We wanted tiny kids to raise and eventually fuck up accidentally by being pretentious and shallow and lusty. I wanted four girls and he wanted a boy. Once, when we were stoned, sitting on the park bench near his house we made up their names. He was fiddling with my hair, my head rested on his lap. It was sticky hot, halfway through last summer. My legs stuck together underneath my slip skirt and DewittÕs hair stuck to his face in clumps. After much stoned deliberation we decided on Papina, Li, Violet, Sabine, and Zane.

When I saw Dewitt again he sked me about them.

I was walking home from the subway in pink pumps. My feet ached, but IÕd still gotten off a stop early so I could pass over the viaduct. It was late, and viaductÕs magic in the dark. I was coming back from Swivel This Ð my favorite record store. I had a bag full of riot grrrl singles, concert flyers, and free condoms. It was freezing, but the viaduct is freezing all the time, even in the middle of summer. YouÕre only safe if you walk in a straight line on the sidewalk because itÕs thin and cracked and littered with trash. On one side of you is a thousand foot drop onto the freeway below. If you look down all you see is darkness where the tress are and streaks of light where the cars are. ItÕs moving fast, even in the middle of the night. People coming in and out of the city. On the other side of you are more cars, rushing by you at top speed. Even when youÕre sober and relaxed itÕs hard to walk in a straight line. ItÕs scary but itÕs peaceful at the same time. The cityÕs all glittery to the south. Far ahead of you is the well-lit street. Cafes and Greek restaurants. But first youÕre by yourself on the bridge.

I was walking gingerly, favoring my right foot, when I saw Dewitt. ItÕs not like everyone says, seeing a ghost. ItÕs not like you shiver and get uneasy and theyÕre there, all pale and scary. Walking along the viaduct, at that moment I missed Dewitt more than IÕd ever missed him. I had a hundred things to say to him right then. And I talked. I talked to the liquid wind and the cars and the darkness and the city. I told them and him how all his friends missed him and how his mother never stopped crying. I told him how his guitar went un-played and lonely, and about the song I wrote for him. How Jake had given up smoking pot for him. How much I missed him, and how nothing was anything without him. I started crying then.

And Dewitt was there ahead of me. Baggy ripped jeans, leather jacket. Scuffed up skate shoes, messy hair, and a big sad smile. I ran to meet him. We held each other, standing there in the collage of a glittering city and sleek painted metal cars and tears and darkness. He kissed me then.

ÒI still want you to have them. Without me. The kids. You wonÕt forget, will you?Ó

I shook my head.

ÒI miss you. And IÕm sorry. About the life we were supposed to have, and our songs and everything else. IÕm so sorry.Ó

I touched his lips with my finger, the way I always did. They felt warm. Breath swirled out from between them, where I had just touched him with my mouth. Alive.

He turned then, heading towards the concrete guardrail, clambering up. Standing, his body a silhouette against the darkness. He teetered for a second, then jumped. Fell. I stared down at where his body should have been falling. But nothing. Just glows and streaks of neon lights and dark.

The soundtrack of our film life came on then. The Bed by Lou Reed. The music came from all around me, but coming out of nowhere in particular. It seeped out of everything as if the world was one big groovy shaking set of speakers. The cars and the trees and the lights and the city and the cold, cold wind, twisting and writhing in my hair.

Oh, what a feeling.