Nigel was the closest I ever knew to the complete hedonist. Life was his platform; pleasure was his business. Nothing else seemed to matter to him. It worried his mother a lot, and she found surprising solace in the fact that I kept her errant son company occasionally. She thought I was a good influence. Whether I was or not is hard to say, but I played the part willingly because my own nature was more that of the chameleon. In the company of strange people I was steady and sensible. In the company of steady, sensible people, I became a little strange. I suppose it was all a matter of balance, and Nigel came to no harm while I was with him so maybe his mother’s view was justified.
The last time I saw him was at a school reunion in 1995 and I didn’t recognise him. When his identity was revealed to me, I felt an urge to keep away. I’m not quite sure why. As far as I recall, I simply felt that there was some sort of barrier between us and I couldn’t be bothered to find out whether I could break it down. And I never saw him again.
Now I’m led to wonder what became of him. Did he change his spots and settle to family life with a wife and several children? Is he now a dear little old man living contentedly with a dear little old woman and being tended by grown up offspring of at least two generations? Did he overstep the mark in his pursuit of pleasure and end up in a prison cell from which he never escaped? Did he perhaps choke to death on some part of a young woman’s undergarment which was never meant to be taken orally? Did he succumb to the effects of some noxious substance which drove him to permanent madness or the end of his days in a state of agony? Or did he simply pursue his pleasures until age and general degradation robbed him of his physical capabilities and he died of a broken ego. These are but a few of the possible ends to which Nigel might have succumbed. And that’s something else I suppose I shall never know.
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