Confession

I had a close friend, and we used to get high on methadone back in 2003. I dropped him off at Paul Smiths College and drove back to Canton, nodding in and out on the highway. I thought of calling him the next day but didn't, and that next day or night i guess he took a bunch more, and died in his sleep. I was the last person known to have spoken to him, and our parting words were not ones of kindness. It tortures me sometimes, and the time between that day and this should have been treated by me as a gift, or something. But I've done dangerous things, and hurt people, and wasted time. It calms me to confess, sometimes, and tonight I couldn't reach anyone by phone.
His name was Anthony David Matott and he was a much better person than me.