Michael, my soccer teammate and playground friend was lost to cancer in 5th grade.
Danny, my best friend in Kindergarten and first grade committed suicide at the end of 8th grade.
And then there was Jake. My cousin, my brother, my best friend of many years. He's been gone 25 years today. I wear him proudly on my arm permanently, with his pinky up and catch phrase, "Why Be Normal?"
I saw the reminder on my calendar and thought, "My math has to be wrong. There's no way it's been more than 15 years. Hell, sometimes it feels like 15 minutes." But the math doesn't lie, I've somehow lived more than half my life without a core person in my development.
I was supposed to go with him the day of his accident and I suffer some survivors guilt about not being there. But I can't imagine the trauma I would be carrying if I was actually there to see it.
The only reason I wasn't... well two... first, I was feeling very intimated by his new friends. I didn't feel like I belonged. And two, I had movie tickets to see High Fidelity. The second reason was definitely my reasoning for not going at the time, but as time allows reflection, I know it was much more the first reason.
It's all trauma I've carried for 25 years. All things I've had to work through in therapy.
Jake was funny man. Just like would crack a joke and get this infectious belly laugh. Always had a quick response, usually sarcastic, for everything.
Jake and I really became close after his dad died unexpectedly. It didn't happen immediately. Started as Jake calling to see if I could come spend the night. Then he'd do it again the next week. Then the next week. Eventually it became a given that I'd spend the night at his house 2-3 weekends a month.
Every Friday night, we would slap on our roller blades and hit Spinning Wheels in North County. This was really an excuse to hit on girls and show off our abilities, but we got some good exercise too.
Then we'd go home, watch movies we borrowed from his Uncle Steve or go to Blockbuster and rent a PlayStation game.
The next day we'd usually ride bikes up to Nagels and blow what little money we had on candy and LEGOs, play soccer, and then go work child labor at Erio's Italian at night. (At the time, I thought getting paid $30 and all the toasted raviolis I could eat for a dish washing shift was everything I needed in the world)
As we got older, girls became more important and Jake was to this day, one of the best wingmen I've ever had.
He'd introduce me to a friend of his. Not only did I have the mysteriousness of being from a different school and being slightly older, but I had my long Kurt Cobain skater hair at the time. So next to all of Jake's Tommy Hilfiger wearing preppie friends, I looked like a badass.
So I'd meet one of his friends who were girls, we'd get flirty, and then Jake and I would break off for the night. Jake would hop on AIM (AOL Instant Messenger) and instantly chat the girl. "No, Danny, my cousin? No he went home. Why do you ask? Oh, you're interested in him. Hmmm, let me see what he thought."
And next thing you knew, Jake and I were going to a Dare Dance with a group of his friends the next weekend, arms around our girls.
For instance, he go a pager. It was one of those see through jungle green plastic 90s devices. We thought it was so cool to get a vibration with a phone number telling you to call someone. Looking back on it, was kind of dumb for what it did, but this is what set you apart from other teens before cell phones.
There was a day where I was in his basement with Aunt Dee. Jake was somewhere else. But I remember this was one of the first "Adult" conversations I can remember having. Aunt Dee stopped cleaning up for a second, looked me in the eye, and said, "Danny, thank you so much for being Jake's friend. I don't think you realize how much it has actually helped him and me."
It was such an unconditional relationship, that I had never considered I was an important piece of him finding his way again after his dad's death.
One of the last times the Three Stooges (Jake, Ryan, and I) were together is working the bottle show my grandpa hosted/inspired at Westport Plaza. Jake, Ryan, and I would go around to the tables, take people's McDonald's orders, and go get lunch for everyone with the understanding that we kept the change. It was a lot of work, but we usually made out with $15 or so a piece.
Well anyway, everyone knows about the glass elevator at West Port that goes up 10 stories or so to the Japanese restaurant. We had done our bottle show duties for the day, got high on a bunch of sugar, and the three of us piled into the elevator to play around. Usually this meant we'd take it to the top while looking outward and trying to pretend we weren't scared of the height. We'd then ride it immediately back down. This elevator moved so fast that if you jumped at the right moment at the end, you'd feel like you were floating for a second. Well, on our fifth or sixth right, we were joking around about how we jump higher and float longer and we were jumping in the elevator on the eight floor doing practice runs.
Bummmp. The lights flicker. The elevator stops. I freeze, completely pale in the face and trying not to vomit. (My default mode) Ryan attempted to hug us both and tell us how much he loves us. I think he got one arm around each of us.
Jake though... Jake just looks us in the eye and says, "You fat pieces of shit. I'm going to die because of you fat pieces of shit."
Then the elevator started again. We stayed silent the rest of the ride down. We never mentioned it to any of the parents, but it's a memory we would bring up here and again as if we actually survived a dangerous situation instead of "us fat pieces of shit" causing the emergency brakes to engage for a minute.
Jake started smoking cigarettes and stealing things for the fun of it. I was really uncomfortable with these new hobbies, but I also saw that he had a really solid friend group now. I stopped coming around as often, a regret now.
One of the last times I saw Jake in person, he gave me a late birthday present. The Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Californication" and Rage Against the Machines "Battle for LA." Stolen, from the Blockbuster of course. But I do remember being touched that he thought about me at all. We didn't have real jobs, so gift giving was usually limited, but here I was holding $40 worth of CDs that Jake went through the trouble of recruiting a friend to help him steal.
I have always been someone that wants a few moments alone with my raw feelings to understand what I'm actually experiencing. I'm not one to want to hug and cry as soon as I hear the bad news. I want silence, I want to be left alone with those feelings, and I want to understand them before I engage with others.
I remember when I found out about Jake. I was sitting on my bed when I was told, playing a PlayStation game that ironically, Jake and I were playing together, called Syphon Filter 3. I was trying to unlock all of the multiplayer levels and characters so that Jake and I had everything at the ready next time we played.
My mom delivered the news. I shut my bedroom door and I continued for the next few hours unlocking secret characters in this game that ultimately didn't matter anymore. But I didn't know what else to do. You're supposed to feel invincible as a kid, and here I was for the third time facing mortality before I could drive. I had anger, I had regret, and of course a sadness I carry to this day.
I would've loved for Jake to have met Sal and for me to have met his wife. I have no doubt that Jake would be working on planes at Boeing, with two kids, and a house in the burbs. I think about all of the BBQs we were robbed of. I mourn the loss of what I had hoped would be.
I have no doubt his rest is peaceful. He's reunited with his dad somewhere. So instead, I sign off with a question that I ask myself often, "Why be normal?"
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