Monday, April 10, 2017

Tell your dad get off my back

The downside to working on the boat: Monday is my one day off from now til October.

And yet, I suspect you do not pity me. Fucker.

Anyway, last night  I finished watching 13 Reasons Why. 

I loved it. I even loved the over the top melodrama of Hannah. The way she sometimes would get in her own way. It was pretty spot on in capturing the adolescent mind. I caught myself rolling my eyes and then remembering, oh wait, I was just like that.

Mostly, I caught myself thinking about friends I knew back in the day. I went to three different high schools so my experience may be slightly different from most people, but the show captured a lot of it.

My Jeff was a kid named Paul. I transferred to Upland High in the middle of my junior year and Paul took me under his wing almost immediately. Invited the new kid to parties and gave me instant credibility. He didn't have to, but he did.

Funny coincidence: he had a shock of natural blonde, almost white hair so when I saw Alex for the first time I thought of Paul.

Because I was such a fuck up, I ended up repeating a lot of classes my senior year. American History was one of those classes. I sat next to a junior named Scott. He was good looking kid from a well off family with a smoking hot girlfriend. He was popular.

By no means were we particularly close, but we had a habit of talking in class every single day. About girls, Hopi Indians, the Arkansas Razorbacks. Don't ask.

I would see him at parties and we might share a beer before going off to our own friends. He was really cool.

Then he wasn't there.

The way I remember it, one day he took his dad's gun upstairs and blew his brains out.

It was surreal. He was here. Then he was not. He was young and beautiful. Then, this light was gone.

At his funeral the minister talked about all things working to the glory of God. I remember thinking, what fucking god needs a sixteen year old to blow his brains out for His own glory? 

Fuck that god. Fuck any god that might find anything glorious in that.

Some time after the funeral I left a card with a letter on his gravesite.

I don't remember what I said. I am sure it was something futile like, you could have talked to me.

You couldn't say that while I was alive, motherfucker?

I don't really have a point to this. Scott isn't even the only dead kid I thought about as I watched 13.

It's a great show. Depressing, but good.

Keep an eye out for each other.

Titty sprinkles!

I like this version of this song the best. Duh.