At 19, he had been impressionable, naive, and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Five years later, when we first met at a small, country college, he had ripened into a full-grown man who harbored a boyish obsession with “lions and tigers” and the witches and wonders of Oz. I countered with my own infatuation with Excalibur, Guinevere, and all things Camelot. He favored Dorothy, I favored the Queen; he took on the guise of a majestic Crowned Emerald Tiger that protected the four travelers from the shadows, while I adopted the role of the Round Table’s noble Arthur. These musings and that mutual escapism were kept between us, often serving as a welcome and whimsical diversion during long hours of cursing Ford’s pardon of Nixon, as well as the perplexing intricacies of our philosophy professor and his long-winded tirades against just about everything.

As the weeks passed, my new friend grew into his newfound identity, embracing it, self-identifying with its perceived grandeur. I generously ceded the high ground, and quietly pondered the captivating smile of Vanessa Redgrave, the plaintive tones of Linda Ronstadt, and the reality that I would never be tall. We were both in our comfort zones, and looking forward to making it home for Thanksgiving, 1974.

I made it.

The Emerald Tiger did not, and for that reason, and the circumstances surrounding it, my own world became a darker and more challenging arena.

Matthew had a blood disorder that had been traced to a bout with malaria in just his third month on the ground in Vietnam. “What did you do over there, Matt?” “Hell, man, I just chased tigers and tea girls and got into trouble after catching both. They sent me home after seven months – for the good of battalion morale. At least I think that was the way they worded it.” (Occasionally irreverent, indeed.)

He had been taking a powerful prescription blood thinner daily for three years when we met on the first of September, but just a week later, his doctors had abruptly pulled him off the drug because wayward 70’s party-goers had discovered it, and started flocking to urban alleyways to buy it from sordid men with open sores. Most used it recklessly and wantonly, tainting its previously formidable reputation. Legitimate users like Matt suffered immediately and  immeasurably due to the irresponsible actions of others, and the replacement meds he was given faltered badly. 

By the end of October, he was enduring severe physical decline, mental exasperation, and emotional exhaustion. Frustrated, he set aside the shortsightedness of his treatment team and sought other providers. Though the FDA had not withdrawn or suspended availability of the medication, each doctor consulted by him and his family backed away, citing liability issues. “Once one doctor declines it, well, it kinda makes the rest of us skittish. You understand.” In fact, my friend did not understand, and neither did I. Matt was distressed and confused, but he never gave way to anger. “Frick anger and hate, man. Not my thing, ya know?”

I know, Matt.

Alone with him in his hospital room on my birthday, sixteen days before Thanksgiving, I asked him what Dorothy from Kansas would have done if she hadn’t been able to click her slippered heels and escape her dire situation. Granted, a strange and insensitive question to almost anyone else battling severe illness, but not to him. His eyes grew wide, and his nostrils flared. “Lions and tigers and bears, oy vey!” Right on cue, the game was on. “Tigers, you say? Hrmph, they’re all the same, Matthew. try harder.” He slowly lifted his weakened arms from his side and waved them in mock rebuttal. “Not so, heathen! The Emerald City celebrated the most courageous of all. The cat revered by wizards and kings. By my Garland and perhaps even your sweet-smiling Lady with the wandering eye. Have you EVER seen such a magnificent specimen in your life as the one who safeguards the castle grounds? I think not.” I knew better than those liability-fearing doctors what Matt wanted, and what he needed. “Point taken. For I have not only seen that same esteemed Crowned Emerald Tiger, I extend him in this moment my hand in friendship, in peace, firmly and forevermore.”

It was, by far, the longest handshake I have ever experienced. His grip was surprisingly strong, and gave me hope.

On November 24th, a team of doctors and nurses crowded into his hospital room as the moment drew close. Two of the doctors present had denied him the medication that had allowed him to still experience extended periods of physical activity, joyfulness and normalcy after surviving his ill-fated Vietnam fallout. Nurses looked at their watches and each other as his blood pressure dropped steadily and his heart rate ticked toward nothingness. They had charts to update, and impatient patients to tend to, and they grew restless.

While a very young man lay before them, undeserving of his fate, they all stood in silence –  watching, waiting, as the Emerald Tiger died.  A nurse announced the time of death, and a doctor recorded it on the patient’s chart. The rest hit the hallways running. It was a Sunday, but the sun, and someone’s son, had just given way to the darkest of clouds.

Sometimes, be it in life or in death, empathy reeks of emptiness, when justice is denied.

Each of us will eventually be afforded a unique opportunity to don the mantle of warrior. Those who meet the moment, like Matt, never truly die. I have kept his spirit alive for the past 51 years and will do so until my own flame burns out. The question that used to haunt me was, “Though I was able to rise and meet my own moments, will anyone remember, or even take notice? Of me? Of Matthew?” Years ago, I concluded that it didn’t really matter, and I am at peace with that.

My gravestone will read, “We live forever in fields of green and gold.”

That “we” means you too, Matthew.

I’ll be along shortly, my friend. Save me a seat, a good one, with a view to the west of the lush, green forests surrounding Camelot for me, and a view to the east encompassing the endless, golden fields of Oz for you, in a timeless land where friendship flows freely in the sunlight, and crowned emerald tigers stand guard in the darkness.

Tonight, I raise my glass to those fleeting, yet binding, encounters that enrich our existence, and to the timeless memories that quietly guide our final journey home. Oh, and to Matt. Of course.