Debut Flash: 'The Summers of Keanu' by Deborah Zafer

You only went and died. You always said you would but I didn't take you seriously.

‘She's attention-seeking,' I said to Marcus. He said it was typical you, reminding me of when we went clubbing once and the room was empty except for you on a podium, dancing in a see-through dress. We laughed. Bathing in your glow was a thing we did.

The first time I saw Keanu you were still alive. It was the summer when everyone was carrying small dogs in bags and I remember googling first person to carry dog in bag and ending up on websites encouraging me to buy bags for the dog I didn't have.

Keanu didn't have a dog either. He was standing in line at the supermarket buying tomatoes and I wanted to say hey, Keanu, I love your movies, but I didn’t, just went home and texted you. You wrote back, Dude. Photo? I had to admit I had forgotten.

Next time take a photo, you said. You were always mad at me for failing to live in the moment.

I will I said. I promise.

The next time I saw Keanu was this summer. He was older and so was I but recently there had been all these articles about him doing good deeds like some sort of kindness ninja. I was in need of kindness.

Keanu was buying coffee. He had the same red cap on.
‘Do you mind if I take your photo?’ I asked.
‘Sure,’ he said.
‘It's for my friend,’ I said, ‘she loves you. Well, loved you, I mean.’
Keanu smiled. I don’t know if he knew what I meant, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is that for once, I was living in the moment and that you weren’t there to see it.