When I think of you I remember
that you were the only of my brother’s close friends who was nice to me
your face at the front door, all smiles
that energetically you felt so much bigger than your physical body could convey
that you made me feel pretty at a time I really needed to feel pretty
the day you lost your mind and broke into apartment after apartment after apartment, and later dumped everything you stole in a man-made lake
that they arrested you for what happened the day you lost your mind
boats on the lake
fish
that you looked up
almost always
almost always
almost always
tragically inept. 
I’m not really a twitter person or a face-book person, but I am learning . . . this is a wonderful remembrance of Ian . . . you are right–he did look up–and he felt at home in our house–he loved cats, too–and he was the only one of James’ friends who could sleep in the big leather chair with the ottoman without his feet hanging off. 🙂
Emily, what a beautiful elegy for your friend. This is a poem, actually — and it’s amazing.
I’ve read this a bunch of times. Like, I’m trying to “see” Ian. And you, then.
I can almost see him.
~ j.