Bragmen’s death still hit me pretty hard even though I wasn’t surprised it actually came. He and I would sometimes take mushrooms together in the forest behind his house when we were feeling bored or adventurous. I had a friend who grew them so I always had some on hand. Usually we each ate 2 or 3 to take the edges off and look at the nice colors that infiltrated the trees but the last time we did it, last month I guess, he wanted to go really hard. I’m talking enough to make you forget you had a body and put your brain into orbit around the farthest star. I’d never taken that much and I still haven’t, but Bragmen seemed peculiarly keen to give it a shot. So I said why not and he chowed down on more psychedelics than I thought was possible.

The entire evening he lay catatonic and nailed to the ground, eyes open but unseeing. I kept an eye on him but was also in the grips of my own trip, mild as it was, comparatively. Before long I saw fairies dancing in the leaves and paid close attention to whatever fleeting music was fluting just off-screen. I never liked it when I couldn’t tell whether my eyes were open or closed. For me being able to see the real world again, by simply opening my eyes, was the rip cord I could pull whenever I wanted. It was my anchor I guess. Just a lifeboat of some kind I could jump into when I couldn’t make out the shore for the sea.

Bragmen had no such lifeline this time. I don’t know how far he had gone. Afterwards he reported only vague pieces of stoner insight, the kind that only applied when you weren’t thinking too hard about whether your retirement was on track or your kids were ok with the babysitter. He seemed alright. The following days marched out much like they always had. But still something was different. Something was off, but not in a bad way. I kind of envied him. He had let go and that’s probably what he was looking for.

I don’t know what was going through his mind in those last days. Deep down he probably sensed things were winding down for him. I wanted to talk to him about it but was afraid it would get too sad. He didn’t seem too scared. Our other friends didn’t notice much, but he was always a little withdrawn so nothing was out of the ordinary from their point of view. That’s just Bragmen, they’d say, what can you do for him. Then we’d talk about something else like the latest episode of the show.

I noticed though. And it’s not like I had a reason to be scared, I don’t think. I just had this sense. Shortly after that trip things took a downturn. I visited him in the hospital but I couldn’t stay long. It was just a weird feeling. He died quietly.

These days I come out to the forest and wander around, trying to take in the silence and understand it and feel comfortable with it. It didn’t make much sense to me. I wanted to feel something meaningful but every time I went I just started dwelling on old memories that still hung around, wondering if it was any decision I made that killed Bragmen. That’s not entirely charitable. He knew he wasn’t going to last very long but I’m still working through it. I guess you could say it sucks.