feel too young to die

"Then a man turned
And said to me: “Although I love the past, the dark of it,
The weight of it teaching us nothing, the loss of it, the all
Of it asking for nothing, I will love the twenty-first century more,
For in it I see someone in bathrobe and slippers, brown-eyed and poor,
Walking through snow without leaving so much as a footprint behind.”

michael's astonishing & audacious post over on his emphasis mine blog brought up lots of old wounds. he & i had quite an email exchange over his "lineup" of bullies past. what i found amazing is that 3 of his four had actually been kind to me in one way or another. i didn't recognize the fourth one at all. i don't know how many of them would remember me(or mike)but i do know that ricky bon(d)iford(michael & i have a disagreement about his name)came out to the outrigger several times & did remember me. he didn't ask about michael.

we knew these guys in different contexts. i think that's why mike has such awful memories of them. one guy played little league w/me, one guy raced slot cars w/me & the other guy was the son of one of dottie's friends. they were all older than me, two by several years.

michael's real boogy-man, eddie langley, actually intervened on my behalf & kept me from getting really trounced once. this was no "american graffiti" paul lemat b.s. i was in high school & george had dropped out. he'd started pushing & doing drugs for & with eddie. not just any drugs either. heroin. jonte pryor called me & begged me to "talk sense into" george. i'd given up EVER thinking i could talk sense into georgie(after his crystal meth binge a year before)but this was a parent weeping & begging. i had to do something.

when i got to eddie's duplex somewhere on lakeview near 18th, i was shaking. philip wouldn't come w/me(he gave up on george when we caught him w/renee parrish---philip's gf). i was alone. it took me a while to get up the nerve to knock on the door. a greasy haired, ghostly pale face appeared, sunglasses obscuring most of his face. " what the fuck do YOU want?" was my greeting. it was one of eddie's minions, a little ferret-face kid. i don't recall his name. "is george pryor here?," i asked, my voice not sounding familiar to me. "fuck!" was his reply & his head darted back into the apartment like a turtles back into its shell. i heard a few words barked & then the door swung open. i stepped inside. it was my first view of hell. i've been through several levels since but this my introduction.

this place was exactly what you'd imagine a rented duplex would be like on the inside. all the curtains were drawn & there was maybe one lamp burning in a corner. you couldn't see the filth but you felt it & smelled it too. puke & rancid body odors, rotted food & musty old apartment: it was an ungodly combination. several people were on the couch, nodded off(i say that because their heads were tilted in various inhuman poses). several others were sprawled on the floor in different positions. it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust but then i recognized george on the couch. "hey, c'mon, let's go george." he didn't answer. i don't think he could.

i heard some noise from down the darkened hallway leading to the bedrooms. "hey look guys, it's 'tiger'(my nickname from little league)," a voice from that darkness spoke & drew near. i could hear footsteps in the hallway, slow ones, deliberate ones. suddenly eddie was in the room, vicki bon(d)iford clinging to his side. he seemed really big or tall. it was the effect of everyone else in the room being either seated or sprawled. "why are you here tiger?" he hissed & this time the use of my nickname carried its full ironic impact. "for george. that's all. nothing else." i heard a few laughs around the room & eddie was grinning, "nothing else? what else would there be, tiger?" tho grinning, it was said menacingly. "just george," i repeated. by now a few more folks from the backrooms had emerged & were standing behind & around eddy(not that he needed them to get his point across). "fuck this punk eddie," someone spit out & there was audible agreement, "nah, let's fuck him UP," came another more waggish suggestion. george hadn't spoken. in fact, george hadn't moved. but eddy moved very quickly, grabbing & hoisting me up as he rushed me to the front door. i heard clapping & hoots of laughter. "stay back," he yelled to his buddies who had started to follow in anticipation of an asskicking. at the top of the steps, he pulled me close. i smelled his bad breath & his sickly sweat body odor. he held me close w/his face right in mine. "don't come back here, danny. don't ever come back, ok?," he whispered & then shoved me down the short flight of stairs. the fall didn't hurt much. when i looked up, there were five or six of his henchmen on the steps & eddy had vicki clinging to him again, "keep your fucking ass away from here, tiger," he mocked. a few of his guys started to come down the steps towards me but eddy screamed "back inside, everyone" & they all started back inside. "remember what i said," he yelled over his shoulder. the door closed behind him. i didn't go back. ever. not there anyway.

a few months later, george had gotten himself free from that place. "shit, all we did was sit around, nod off & puke," he said. heroin just wasn't his drug. george was bullet-proof back then. he really was. ah, youth, right?

neither michael nor i know what happened to eddie langley.


"And beyond,
as always, the sea of endless transparence, of utmost
calm, a place of constant beginning that has within it
what no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, what no hand
has touched, what has not arisen in the human heart.
To that place, to the keeper of that place, I commit myself."

poems intro & outro by mark strand