Afterthoughts : Death Pays Another Visit
A few weeks ago a friend commented that hopefully my Father's death would mark the last of the now frequent visits by the Angel of Death. Sadly that wasn't to be the case. One of my oldest friends, Joe, died last month after choking on some food. The circumstances of his death are still a bit sketchy, but suffice to say that no matter how he died he is gone.
I knew Joe for 14 years. I met him at Santa Monica College in a photo class, the photo class from hell I might add. We became quick friends, almost instantly. He was, in a word, a character. I never found him in a bad mood, or anything but up. I'm sure he had his moments, but I never knew him to be down. He didn't live close, but we spoke on the telephone nearly every day. He was the first person I called when my Mother passed away. He cheered me up when I was down, and I will miss him.
He introduced me to Jack Kerouac, and one of the lines in the book is a perfect description of him. There's a line that talks about the kind of people the narrator wants to meet and it goes like this:
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!"
That was Joe, he never said a commonplace thing, never yawned. I grew up an only child, so to me my friends become like family (without the sibling rivalry). Joe was like a brother to me, and I will miss him.
