Three days later, while I was still in Hawaii, I got a text from a woman Lee had known in Alaska who had worked for the boat company. I had never been much of a fan of hers, so I was surprised to see her name pop up.
Have you talked to Lee?
I texted her back.
Why are you texting me?
She got right back to me.
They found him.
I immediately called her.
“What are you fucking saying?” I said.
“He’s gone,” she said.
And I just dropped my phone.
Much later, I checked the timestamp of the message Lee had left me, asking me to not give up on him. I realized that Lee had diedabout one hour after he’d called me. His body wasn’t found for three days.
He was twenty-six years old. He hadn’t hung on after all.
I flew Lee’s parents out to Los Angeles to identify his body, but because he’d vomited at the end, they weren’t allowed to look at his face. The stomach acid had eaten it away in the days he’d lain there alone. Instead, they identified him by his tattoos.
This is the truth of addiction, the thing no one ever tells you until it’s too late. These facts are presented here not to be gratuitous, but as a warning, as a witness, as a plea to do whatever you can to avoid this terrible fate and to help those who fall into addiction.
We held a memorial service on a yacht because Lee had always said he wanted to be buried at sea. Martyn helped with all the photo montages and everything else. I brought in all of Lee’s friends from New York and rehab and his parents and anyone who knew him and loved him. It was a lot of people. He was that kind of guy.
I went into a tailspin for a long time after Lee’s death.
I thought it was my fault. I still do some days. Perhaps if I’d taken his call, if I hadn’t made him move to St. Andrews… So many ifs, constricting my throat, filling my heart with more self-loathing.
Though gone corporeally, Lee Grivas stayed with me for a long time in spirit.
I was haunted by him.
For the longest time, every night I would wake up at 3:15 a.m.precisely. Some nights, I’d awake to find Bella, my white cat, the one who had played with his needles, staring into the darkness with her fur up.
I could sense him too in the room.
Finally, one night I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Fucking stop it, Lee. You’ve got to stop. I have to work. It’s okay if you’re here, but you’ve got to stop waking me up, man!”
The following night, Lee didn’t show.
The day after that, a friend of mine called.
“Did Lee come to you at three fifteen as usual?” he said.
“Nope,” I said, “he didn’t.”
“Well,” my friend said, “that’s probably because he came tome.”
“Tell him to stop!” I said. Which my friend did, and Lee stopped.
Lee’s mom called that same friend the next day.
