Today, I'm thinking of a kid I went to high school with. He had a sense of humor and an insight and compassion far beyond his years. I've told some of my TMF intimates about him.
What I remember most about him was that he was a very loving individual. To me, at that time (and this one, I admit), I considered such an attitude towards life anomalous, to say the least. He, through his own anger, somehow saw the good in people, and thrived off of it. The way he lived his own life, with the drinking and the drugs, pretty much displayed his own anger with things for the entire world to see, but somehow, the love came through. He made me feel good about myself, at a time when I was incapable of letting anyone make me feel good about myself; he penetrated a shell. He really did care...in fact, he cared more about other people than he did for himself.
He died in a car accident somewhere down in Louisiana back in July of 1982. He was eighteen. His was a terrible loss to me, and it was acutely felt later on, when I felt that I truly walked this earth alone. I have very little physical evidence of his presence in my life; only memories, only of his voice in my head...he's one of the voices of my conscience.
I visit him from time to time, I sit next to his stone, and just tell him, in the conversation in my mind, what's going on in my life, whether I've seen any mutual friends as of late. Stuff like that. I sit for a little while. I don't sit for too long, because, for some reason, cemeteries are very, very cold places, no matter how warm it is during the day. Superstitions abound over this, but I don't delve too deeply, I just seem to respect this.
I miss my friend very dearly, to this very day. It will be twenty-four years this coming July. Woulda been nice to have him at my wedding, to have him at my house for company. Woulda been nice.