coup de soleil

After Bryan died, his father told me about how the family handled the death of Bryan's mother in 2002. Kyle, 11 at the time, asked his dad if they could just think she went Up North on vacation, and that she'd be back sometime. His dad agreed-- it was a nice thing to think.

When I look at my pictures of Bryan in Morocco, I sometimes get the curious sensation they're a window into his afterlife. Bryan on vacation. Sunburnt and smoking. Dressed like a bum in raggedy Chucks and letting his Ali Baba beard grow wild.

On the rooftop of our Marrakesh riad, washing clothes.

Contemplating the medina walls. B said Morocco felt "holy."

tea and cigarettes-- staples of the Moroccan diet.

A tourist-trap moment in the Djemaa el Fna. B wasn't pleased about this. ("I just felt bad for that monkey.")

From the balcony of our hotel in Gueliz.

A Lawrence of Arabia moment.

In Essaouira, B would sit at the cafes on the promenade, smoking and writing and sucking down Coca Colas everyday while I swam. It drove me crazy. "We're on the Atlantic Coast. In Africa. And you won't even get in the water," I scolded him, daily. Finally, exasperated, he snapped back, "Look. I took off my shoes, I rolled up my pants, I did the beach thing." It still makes me laugh.