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No. I refuse. || 09.09.03
I'm sitting here staring at this little white box and shaking like a leaf. My stomach is in knots and the tears won't stop.

It just seems so wrong, like a sick joke that is being played. My head is screaming "NO NO NO NO NO" and my heart is breaking. I don't want to believe it. It's just wrong. This can't have happened. I just talked to him Friday ... finally talked to him after being out of touch with him for so long. He sounded tired, but in good spirits. Telling me about the hell he's been through, and about the wonderful progess he has (had) been making. The prognosis was good. Fuck, he was supposed to be home in two weeks, three tops. He was going to be back in diaryland, writing about the world through his eyes. He was going to be back on MSN, bantering back and forth with me and Trinity. He was going to be back in the channel on IRC he liked to hang out in, shooting the shit with his friends there. I was supposed to talk to him either today or tomorrow.

The quote I put in his diary entry for him this past Friday came straight out of his mouth. The irony is unsettling, especially considering I was one of the "two" he talked about. I had been so worried and I just had this feeling of dread hanging around. I thought he had passed away. Imagine my relief when I found out he hadn't. How thrilled I was to find out that not only was he alive but that he was GETTING BETTER! Christ, we even joked about it, with him saying he came close but he wasn't ready to go yet. He had a great laugh over it.

We talked about how his life had changed since he went into the hospital. I was so glad to hear that he and his father had mended their rift. It means that much more now, to know that something that was eating at him was resolved before his death. We talked about how things were going to be different for him in the future, how certain aspects were going to have to change. He was trying not to let himself get too down. He bitched about the things one bitches about when in a hospital or rehab setting. He had been through hell and back. His laugh, while a bit thready, was still as infectious as always. God, he even remembered to ask me how my knee was doing, asking what the doctor had said. After all the shit he had been through and was still facing he was more concerned about my stupid knee than about himself.

"He" is Chrome Magnum Man -- Chromey to me. His readers saw one facet of him. I was fortunate enough to see more of the big picture. While some people couldn't see past the entries about gas or sweaty balls or his clutziness, I got to see the real man behind Chrome. I was lucky enough to be shown Scott.

While Chrome was busy being raunchy, Scott was one of the most big-hearted people I've ever met. When it came to others this wonderful man gave and gave of himself. He was patient and understanding beyond belief. I knew I could always go to Scott with any kind of problem and he'd help me -- even if it was just to listen to me bitch and whine. His sense of humor was wicked and his laugh was, as I said, infectious. He battled his demons quietly and gracefully.

I'm trying so hard to try to find the words I need but they are just not coming. The tears fall freely, but the words I can't shake loose. I'm sure there will be other tributes more eloquently written about Scott, and he deserves them all. And I do take comfort in the knowledge that I did get to talk to him last friday and that he KNEW I was thinking about him.

But right now all I want to do is stomp my feet and rage about this. It's NOT right and it's NOT fair and FUCK YOU GOD for doing this!




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