You never stopped drinking coffee. You drank it fast, while it was still hot, with all the urgency of a man who spoke with pride about his father's strength. "Once he punched me and I flew over the couch." You laughed when you told that story, that loud, bullhorn laugh, oblivious. "He showed me who was boss." You hovered at my desk in your janitor's uniform, fidgeting like only a meth addict can fidget. "I think I could take him now."
You were the least likely Bible school student ever, trying in vain to fix yourself, broken beyond repair. Sometimes I would sneak into the chapel with you and play the piano and sing while you wailed on the drums. It was your passion, and you talked about it incessantly. "John Bonham was the greatest drummer of all times," you'd say. "Neil Peart can kiss my ass." Sometimes I would just sit and listen to you. Damn, you were a good drummer. If only that were enough to be a complete person. If only you could have stayed there, behind those drums, you might have been okay, but eventually we knew they'd find us and tell us to get back to work.
When, in a display of terrible judgement, they promoted you from janitor to security guard, I remember how proud you were. Later, when they fired you, you laughed about it. "They said I was peeking in the girls' dorms. I was just walking around, doing my job, but they said I was peeking in. I got news for them, I've seen better."
You were the least likely friend for a straight lace like me, you were crooked and bent. Nevertheless, you always had to tell the truth to your friends. I remember very well that day in the staff lounge, when, with tears in your eyes, you told me that you had wanted to kick my ass. "I thought about it, though, and I decided you're right. And well, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry." Do you have any idea how rare and amazing that is. "You're a big guy, but I think I could take you," you said, smiling. "I'm scrappy." I bet you are. I remember also the time you wanted to kick Carl's ass because he said he didn't think the book of Hebrews should be in the Bible. You couldn't afford doubt, after all. You knew where that would lead you. You had to make your belief last as long as possible.
Last I heard you were back in the gutter, back on meth. You beat up your wife and took off. That was a few years ago, and no one has seen you since. No one was surprised. You wore your brokenness on your sleeve. Everyone knew where you came from and where you were headed. I wonder what broke you. One too many trips over the couch? One too many hits of the pipe?
Society categorizes people according to the worst things they've done, according to their crimes. It's a defense mechanism, a practical exercise in abstraction. There's just not enough time to consider everyone individually. You are a bastard and a criminal, and you deserve whatever hell you're in. Nevertheless, you are my friend. I hope you have some happy moments. I hope you get to play the drums sometimes. You deserve that too.
Hello, friends. I hope you're well. Looking for a laugh? Check out Todd Levin. Funny.
Later. Love.
