I’m thinking about dead friends:
Stacey Hurt (class of ’89) hung herself a year or two after she graduated. I sat by her in Study Hall. We had a great time. There are very sweet things about her that i will never, ever forget. I still have a notebook she wrote on somewhere. Nothing but fond memories. I’ll never forget how i felt a little emptier when she graduated early. That last goodbye was so weak, yet it lasted forever.
I once introduced her to Kevin Lay (90). That scene in my head still creeps me out. There was actually some talk that he just as likely could have swerved to HIT a dog. Either way sounds equally true, if you knew Kevin! That was a black, black day that scarred many of us in his class for life. Even though my politics have changed dramatically since high school, i always had great respect for him. He was one of The Good Ones (if a little overly-mischeivous)! I still use his classic put-down: “turn around and put your head down!”
Mike Mettler (91) will also always lay claim to a sore spot on my heart. He hung himself several years ago at his mother’s house. He was so much fun, so much fun. We invented kooky names and dances and had a great time. The great music we shared, angry and beautiful, always reminds me of him. Dishdogs 4 life. Mojo.
Jimmy Harris (89) was on my bus route. He could be hell sometimes, but i’ll never ever forget the time i was walking out of the restroom and he was walking in, and he said something like, “Hey, Jarratt, what’s up?” – that floored me. I was a freshman and about as uncool as a person could get. I had no idea that he knew my name. Thanks, Jimmy. That meant something, man. Set fire to himself, allegedly while tripping balls.
Bill White (89) …what can i say? He was a cocky bastard who i hated, and a devious angel who i jealously adored. I got to see a real good side of him, though. He was a lot humbler than he usually let on, especially as he got older and gentler. He got through a whole lot of hell in his life. A master musician, on both guitar and drums; my favorite band to play in was any with him in it, even if i was in a Bill-hating phase. The best, though, was with him and Jeremy & Tony Dawson. I always felt *tremendously* honored that he took drums and gave his blessing to my sorry worthless ass to play the guitar (we were way past the bullshit by then). He shot himself just a few years ago, and nobody really understands that but him. I fully regret not being able to catch him before he finally fell.
There are too many others. None are truly gone from us until we have forgotten them at last. Never forget.
I guess i’d say that Mike and Bill hurt the most. It hurts a lot, even to this terrible moment.
Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.
And anguish, somehow, to deep, breathless joy.
Spill a little for my homies, thump thump.
