Paramedic at the Pentagon

Every Wednesday, Evan would meet me at the Pentagon for lunch. All of the security guys got to know him and he got in easier than anybody except a four-star general. One officer would ask about him every time I saw him for months after Evan stopped coming. When I would bring other friends in for tours, they would be so impressed by the friendliness of a place that greets me, one of 20,000+ employees, with a "Hey, how's your brother doin'?" Evan is famous like that.

Every week we would get some fast food, and I let him pay, but I always met him out front first. One day I met him and he was with a police officer and his hand was bloody. He had cut his finger on a kitchen knife at home, bled all over the kitchen and bathroom, washed his finger, wrapped his hand in paper towel, and then taken the bus to meet me. Thank goodness I worked only 1 mile from home and that my office had a flexible schedule and understanding boss.

The officer had stopped Evan to give him a bandaid and a new papertowel, but you couldn't tell how deep the cut was and it was still bleeding, so they offered to call EMS.

I didn't know what to do. I pictured 2-3 nurses with better bandaids and a knowledge of finger-cut depths and solutions. So I said sure.

A firetruck showed up five minutes later.

That was the only med unit available, and they were prepared for bigger stuff than a cut finger. After three minutes of firefighter support, an EMS ambulance also arrived.

After the firetruck left, a medic washed his finger, put on a bandaid, the bleeding stopped, and he said Evan needed stitches. We took a bus to a nearby urgent care center and three stitches later we headed to Costco for lunch and antibiotics from the pharmacy.

Driving later that day to Alexandria for a meeting, Evan started waving his injured hand around. He smiled and said, "See, I can still conduct music!"

Hungry Communication

Evan and I spent nearly $90 on groceries last Saturday.

He just texted me at 6:09pm: " Get    me    food"

A Bug's Life

Evan and I were eating lunch at our dining room table when a small small bug, a fruit-fly or gnat as small as a dot, skittered around beside his fork.

He watched it for a while and then exclaimed: "Oh, it's you! I like insects."

Then squish.

Evan Skiis

Evan loved skiing in Utah. The instructors were his favorite type of people: the male instructors were cool, bearded men's men who thought Evan was cool; the female instructors were beautiful, long-haired models who thought Evan was cute.

Our last instructor used one of those chair-uni-ski things because his legs were weak, but was totally with it otherwise. This guy was like a Special Olympics gold medalist. On the first lesson, he wanted Evan to go down the bunny hill to see how he could ski.

Evan got off the chair lift and started going really slow. Like 1/4-1/8 as fast as normal. When I asked him why, Evan said, "we need go slow because of him."

A Call Goodnight

Evan called me an hour ago.

"Hey Brigham. You leave tomorrow Africa. Goodbye. I love you. Miss you. You need to go to bed Mister. Get good rest. Lots of things to do tomorrow."

Boxing Class

Evan recently started learning to box. He has watched enough action movies to be inspired and he loved practicing with a punching bag in our old house. After a few private lessons to get the basics, he joined a beginners class.

Evan: How many guys at boxing class group?
Me: 3-5
Evan: How many girls?
Me: 1-2
Evan: What?!! Are you kidding me?!? Are you joking on me??!!

He doesn't like a venue with such bad odds.

Conjoin Analysis

Evan is a nester. He rearranges his room weekly. His walls constantly morph into different collages of sports magazine cutouts, printed pictures of Selena Gomez, Avengers stickers, and three large Selena Gomez posters. All of these rely on a ready supply of push pins and soft sheetrock walls.

When we moved into our house in Boston, we had to decide which room each of us should live in. One of our roommates created a spreadsheet with the # of windows, closet size, which floor, direction of view, and other considerations. I helped Evan choose his room based on what I understood his preferences to be.

I made a mistake. Evan called me, which he does once a fortnight when something has gone wrong.

Evan: Brigham! I need to switch rooms!
Me: Why?
Evan: I can't hang my posters. The walls are too hard!

I found him some tape to hang his pictures and he's been happy in there ever since.

Happy Birthday Mackey!

On Sunday Evan and I were driving in a snowstorm (when is it not a snowstorm in Boston this winter?). It was Mackey's birthday, so after singing "happybirthdayhappybirthdayhappybirthday to you!" and talking about life, he hung up and we chatted a little.

Evan: Mackey is all grown up.
Me: Yeah, she's 20. She's not a baby girl anymore.
Evan: She's NOT a baby! She's tall! She's the BEST girl!
Me: You're right. Sorry. Not a baby. Totally tall. She's great.

Questions

Evan loves to ask questions that begin, "What is better...?" Sometimes the questions are very deep, confusing, or meta and I just don't know what to say. Most of the time, the options are difficult to compare or not socially acceptable to compare: temples, people, experiences, testimonies, dates, or friends.

"What is better: earth, summer, or June?"

Who's the best singer: Justin Bieber, Shake It Up, or this (MoTab)?

Do you like dogs, wolves, or werewolves? I like puppies.

Which temple is better: this one, Boston, DC, or Provo?

What is better: Chicago or New York?