He was eclectic.
Matt smoked a tobacco pipe. He was always ready with a random fact. He wanted to be a journalist, and had a vocabulary that put mine to shame (and I started reading chapter books when I was four).
He was eloquent.
Did I mention the vocabulary?
Matt always had an affinity to playing the modern gentleman, and made sure to address me with a proper title, such as "little lady" or "miss".
He was sensitive
Matt and I had a routine of messaging each other once or twice a year online. Usually, it consisted of summarizing our lives in a single paragraph. The last time I caught up with him, he was approaching the one year anniversary of his father's death and was telling me about his emotional turmoil. Matt always felt honour towards his inner circle, and spoke of his bond with family often.
He was always attentive in conversations, and I don't think there was ever a time where he didn't make sure to ask how I was doing, or direct the conversation away from him and onto my stories.
He was a little weird
He dragged me into an arcade to play Dance, Dance Revolution (I refused). He would always be ready for a joke that passed off as "maybe serious". He didn't dress like any of the cool kids.
The thing about Matt was that we weren't really friends. We met on the Internet, through a site called Nexopia. We only met in person once, at West Edmonton Mall - the dreaded day of Dance, Dance, Revolution (he was really good at it!). After that, we spoke twice a year for 12 years.
We Were Internet Friends
But I'll be damned if anyone tells me that the Internet can't brew meaningful friendships. How can you process the death of somebody you once knew, but never really knew? Why does it, then, feel strange to hear of their passing? Why are there still the memories, strong in your mind? If they weren't a real friend, then why do you know them well?
We Were Friends.
RIP, my friend, Matthew Alexander Popoff.
No comments:
Post a Comment