Ode to a Nikaroo
I've been trying to write a note about Niki all day and it's been very hard. The sheer unfairness of her life and death overwhelm my writing skills. Mel and I went for a walk early today and I was questioning what the point of everything is. It sure makes it hard for me to believe in any sort of benevolent deity when I think about how some people are given so little chance for success.
I've seen her potential - while she took way too much credit for it, all of the early moments of my relationship with Mel have her doing us a favor that made the interaction possible - and wonder how incredible she could have been if she could have just caught a break or two just once in her life. Even the mistakes she made were those of someone who had no good options and was just so frustrated that she lashed out where she could.
As bad as a lot of the moments were, I still remember the good ones. We had so much fun at Camp Phunky at the first Bonnaroo. For that matter, I'll never forget sitting in the back seat in a car in Vegas 2004 as we went on the "date" that Mel said I was allowed to have with you. You told this story from the Miami run. You went out in the beach well past midnight on the 1st and watched someone wrap himself in the bedsheet where some friends had crossed that boundary. He sang his own deranged version of "Meatstick" until the sun came up. Then he lit it on fire, running in the ocean to put it out before he could hurt himself.
As insane as that story was, that's what really brings it home. If this were 2003, it's quite possible you and Mel would have been driving to Charlottesville together yesterday - maybe first picking me up at the Richmond airport. We'd be cracking jokes about the naked guy and the Mike bass problems. Instead I'm sitting here trying to wrap my mind around a world where I'll never see you again.
Rest in peace my dear Nikaroo. On New Year's Eve, we'll go out to the beach and look out at the ocean, imagining some deranged person entertaining you all night. Then we'll raise a glass in your honor. To Nichole Griffith. May you somehow have found the peace in death that eluded you in life.
I've seen her potential - while she took way too much credit for it, all of the early moments of my relationship with Mel have her doing us a favor that made the interaction possible - and wonder how incredible she could have been if she could have just caught a break or two just once in her life. Even the mistakes she made were those of someone who had no good options and was just so frustrated that she lashed out where she could.
As bad as a lot of the moments were, I still remember the good ones. We had so much fun at Camp Phunky at the first Bonnaroo. For that matter, I'll never forget sitting in the back seat in a car in Vegas 2004 as we went on the "date" that Mel said I was allowed to have with you. You told this story from the Miami run. You went out in the beach well past midnight on the 1st and watched someone wrap himself in the bedsheet where some friends had crossed that boundary. He sang his own deranged version of "Meatstick" until the sun came up. Then he lit it on fire, running in the ocean to put it out before he could hurt himself.
As insane as that story was, that's what really brings it home. If this were 2003, it's quite possible you and Mel would have been driving to Charlottesville together yesterday - maybe first picking me up at the Richmond airport. We'd be cracking jokes about the naked guy and the Mike bass problems. Instead I'm sitting here trying to wrap my mind around a world where I'll never see you again.
Rest in peace my dear Nikaroo. On New Year's Eve, we'll go out to the beach and look out at the ocean, imagining some deranged person entertaining you all night. Then we'll raise a glass in your honor. To Nichole Griffith. May you somehow have found the peace in death that eluded you in life.