Johnny, Kick a Hole in the Sky is someone you haven't heard about yet, but was a huge part of my life throughout high school. He & I still keep in touch and enjoy seeing each other when our schedules allow for it. The easiest way to summarize him: Jim Halpert. With a little bit of this guy. Someday Johnny will get his own entry, because he deserves it, but tonight he'll have to settle for being first on my list of favorite moments.
We left my sixteenth birthday party to escort home a friend who badly needed it. The walk home was the first time we'd ever been alone together.
Being the emotional disaster that I was, it was barely a minute before he said something to trigger tears, which I'm particularly bad at controlling. In the middle of a four-way intersection, in the middle of the night, Johnny pulled me in and wrapped his arms around me, tight.
"You are the only genuine person I've ever met," he said calmly, but firmly. "Everyone else, you just think they're nice because they pretend to be. Then you get to know them and they're assholes. You are the only person in the entire world who isn't an asshole."
As I collected myself, I stood enclosed in his arms, feeling safe. He provided such an instant sense of security, of love, of reassurance.
"We should do this again sometime," I said smiling, as he left me at my front door.
"Yes," he said, taking me in his arms again. "I love you. Happy Birthday."
Kid A and I were a disaster, start to calamitous finish, but I wouldn't have spent three years in it if it had been constantly terrible. There were periods, however brief, of ecstasy. (Inevitably followed by hopeless periods of agony. Sometimes I can visualize our relationship as an almost tangible manifestation of his mysterious bipolar disorder, a journey we took together, mirroring his unendurable moods with the blissful peaks and excruciating valleys.) But for every descent into disaster was another ascension grace. And while the grace was wrought by heartbreak, even the heartbreak was beautiful sometimes, in its poetry and its sheer destructive force.
"Promise me something," I whispered quietly.
"And what is that?" he asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I was hoping you'd have something." I forced a small laugh. "I'm sorry." (I was constantly apologizing to him.)
"Don't be. It'll be okay," he assured me. "You'll be okay. I promise."
My first visit home from college was Halloween weekend. I spent a total of 23 hours in the care of public transportation services for 48 hours at home, because my absentee ballot application had been mishandled and I was hell bent on voting in my first election.
At the end of a night with my friends, Bobby McGee and I walked out to his car. As we got inside, he paused before he started to drive.
"You're very important to me," he said. I smiled and returned the sentiment. "I love you very much," he continued. "We've been friends for a long time, and you're always going to be a big part of my life."
He paused again and started driving. "You were like... my sexual awakening," he stated.
He paused again and started driving. "You were like... my sexual awakening," he stated.
My eyes widened and I laughed nervously, unsure of how to respond. "What... um. What?"
"Our first kiss," he explained. "I don't know, I'd kissed lots of other girls before, but that was different. It was like... just totally different. It woke me up."
I continued laughing and thanked him.
"You were like, the awakening to my whole life, actually."
Again, unsure of how to respond, I just smiled and looked at him inquisitively.
"I was just this...kid, before you. Who was always following rules and never doing anything cool. Then you showed up and it was like... I started having fun. You just... you were the awakening of my life."
I smiled, feeling a mild discomfort only because I didn't know how to react or respond. I just thanked him again and reassured him that the gratitude and love were mutual.
They were. They always have been. They still are.
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