Disposable Teens

Another member of my pack passed on, just before Christmas.

Ron was the glue.  Most every event that ever happened in the history of all the things - he was the integral part.  Whether he drove us there or provided the party location - he was the key.

I met Ron on a chilly September Friday night.  Thinking on it, I can still feel that moment.  I feel the crispness of the air.  I can smell the Fall.  I remember that I was wearing a black shirt and black pants with black combat boots.  My hair was in a pony tail to show off my 1993 undercut.  He walked in - in all of his 6'4" intimidation.  He was wearing black jeans and a black and purple windbreaker.  Ron was a huge guy.  Like, seriously huge.  He wasn't just on the football team - he was the football team.  He was 18, the oldest of us all.  He was so quiet.  And so much the opposite of his exterior.

I'm blessed enough to have this initial encounter immortalized on video tape.  That night changed my entire existence.  That night I found my family.  From that night forward we convened in my bedroom or in Ron's van or at his house.  He had this cat, Garfield, that probably saw more than the average cat would or should ever see.  His whole bedroom was this phenomenal mural of Star Wars.  It was commissioned by his father who passed away just before we met.  He was truly a geek in the most exquisite of ways.  He tore through books and could quote just about any poet and philosopher.  He refused every offer of alcohol even though he'd procure it.  He'd deny any hit from a bowl or bong.  He'd push away the cigarettes.

He was so kind and gentle.  He showered us with lavish (in teen terms) gifts filled with great thought and deliberation.  I wish I could find the necklace he got me.  It was Egyptian styled - blacks and golds.  He was one man that could make the most hilarious of euphemisms for masturbation (Robin and the Batpole was the best) and still have the taste of a gentleman.  He was so shy and reserved... at first.  He was a puzzle that you either wanted to figure out or leave completely alone.  I loved him instantly.

He'd take us to concerts - Pantera, White Zombie, The Breeders, Slayer, Tool - And because of his size, he'd let me sit on his shoulders so that I could see the stage as I was so small.  Once, I got totally shitfaced drunk on ridiculous amounts of Mad Dog and I took my clothes off.  Gently and carefully, he covered me up and protected me.  A lessor man would have taken advantage.  For his chivalry, I planted on him his first, grape flavored, french kiss.  He was classy enough to not speak of it again.  He was the first man that I'd ever feel safe next to.

Eventually, his resistance to alcohol gave.  And slowly behind it came the pot.  And cocaine followed.  He got into several car accidents where I worried that I'd never see him again.  Now, that moment has arrived.  I can remember walking behind him through The Narrows Pet Cemetery, leaves rustling under our feet.  I remember thinking that it'd take a force of epic proportion to take him down.  And it has.

My heart hurts so much.  Similar to the way that it did when Steve passed earlier.  I can feel the lump in my throat climbing and tears are waiting for more opportune moments to break free.  My dear friend is gone.

And these are the moments where time hasn't passed.  I don't care how many years it's been.  He was still in here - in my heart, in my soul, in my identity.  He is as much a part of me as I am.  Because we formed each other many years ago.  For some, there was some implied expiration date on this friendship.  A relationship shelf life that I don't believe exists.  If I have once called you a friend - time does not prevail - love does.

I love you Ronald McDonald.  Thank you for being a formative energy in my life.  Thank you for picking me up when I called.  Thank you for giving me a chance.  Thank you for the years we shared in our rooms and cars and homes and beings.  Thank you for being safe.   Thank you for Come As You Are.  Thank you for the big belly laughs and my first hit from a 6 foot gravity bong that required me standing on your bed when I was 17 years old.  Thank you for the trips to Taco Bell.  Thank you for being there for the birth of my first child and for standing at my first wedding.  Thank you for accepting me.  Thank you for allowing me into your life for the time that I was.

I will miss seeing you from time to time and sharing a laugh and memory.  May you fly free from the pains that bound you on Earth.  Someday, I hope many, many years from now - I hope to see you, Ryan, Jason, Bryan, and Steve again.  Maybe hang out like we did for just a minute.