My friend Erik
My friend Sven used to hold Halloween parties, back when we were in our 20s, and two of them stand out to me. The first, I don't recall the exact year, probably 2001 or 2002; one of the partygoers was on prescription meds and was drinking and ended up projectile vomiting, causing us to call the paramedics, then sit around watching The Usual Suspects at 1:30 in the morning while we waited for an update from someone at the hospital. The other was far calmer.
It was 2003, which I remember for several reasons. It was the year my father put in our wood floors. Halloween was on a Friday, and since I worked at the bookstore on Friday nights, I was dressing up to get ready. I was Cinderella that year and it was a pain to do my hair. The doorbell kept ringing and I kept having to stop. Well, except for when dad was using the saw in the (closed) garage; it would freak out some of the kids, who would run away. That part of it was amusing. But finally I had to fetch him out of the garage so he could answer the door and I could finish getting ready. As I expected, the costume was a hit, and several kids at the mall asked if I was really Cinderella. I had to tell them my glass slippers were in the shop or something like that, but I had on otherwise fancy shoes.
Sven's party that year was the next day, and I wore the costume again. The thing about that party is that exactly two people (or, at least, two girls) wore a color other than black: Me, and my friend Heather, dressed as a flapper in a bright red dress. We stood out. And that was how I found myself getting hit on by a record three drunk guys I'd never met before. My previous record: Zero. My record since: Also zero. So it must have been a pretty good costume. Of the three, I don't remember what the one did, probably just general awkward stuff. Another one, whom I'd deemed the creepiest of the three, claimed he could sober up *like that!*, snapping his fingers, to which I basically rolled my eyes. I'd been the first to eat a cupcake that night, and discovered the toppers in the icing were little finger puppets, I believe. He then went around making people eat the cupcakes so he could get the toppers and put them on all my fingers, at least on one hand. Really, do you think that's appropriate? Meanwhile--and this was the point that was most upsetting to me at the time--was that I'd mentioned my birthday was in three weeks and I'd be 26. He told me I was "well preserved for my age." ...I was freaking 25. REALLY? Yeah, THAT'S the way to a girl's heart. I'm not sure I ever saw him again after that, but I was happy to avoid him, because really. No.
The third guy saw me and said something I didn't understand. He may have been mumbling slightly. I probably gave him a puzzled look, and then he said, "I told you 'you look very beautiful' in Greek." ...Oh my God. I totally just got hit on by a nerd, but in the most awesomely nerdy way. Having studied Latin in high school...wow. I'm terrible with names, so when he gave me his, I went, oh, that's my cousin's name! He seemed incredibly put out by that. What, it's a way for me to remember who you are. I'm not equating you to my cousin.
That was not the only place I'd run into Erik, or Rob (the first guy); years later, at least one of them was greatly relieved to discover he was not the creepiest person I'd met at the party. Oh, no. It turned out they'd gone to college with my high school friends, and many of them made it back up this way, so at various parties over the years we'd see each other. The most memorable of the others was when we were at a friend's house, while he was still living at home, and Erik, Rob, and I got into a conversation about the Lord of the Rings movies, which I'd never seen; still haven't. They were horrified at this thought and were going to kidnap me and make me watch them all. Guys, at least I've read the books! I'm not a total heathen! Partway through this conversation, the host's brother wandered over and joined in, and after a while I managed to literally back away from the conversation, much like you might see in movies or on TV. I didn't realize that could actually work until then.
Within a couple years of meeting, Erik was off to California, and I didn't see him much after that. But, through the magic of LiveJournal, we kept in touch.
-- He was the one who informed me about the Peruvian Death Flu.
-- He was the most concerned when I questioned what was going on with me when I ultimately had my scary migraine, then, once he knew I was okay, bugged me to make a certain phone call that had been discussed earlier in the month.
-- He also surprised me with musical knowledge when I wrote my song. Before then, I had no idea he knew music.
Over time, his use of LJ faded; so many people moved over to Facebook. I missed the stories about his students--he was my fancy professor friend--and his animals and The Lovely Wife and the funny things she said. My favorite tales involved the lap chicken. Because, really, how many people have a lap chicken? (His wife is a vet, I should mention.) He also enjoyed cooking and baking and I liked reading his recipes. The last time I was in contact with him was last August, judging by his most recent post in his journal.
I got a jolt last Tuesday when our mutual friend Andy commented in my anniversary post, the one asking for people to say hello. That was when Andy broke the news that we'd lost Erik last month. I instantly knew what he meant, so I didn't make a smart-ass comment about trying to find him, and yet I was in disbelief. Erik was going to be the guy sitting around telling stories and drinking whisky when he was 70, imparting his wisdom to everyone's kids, who were finally old enough to do such a thing. Plus, he was two years younger than me. People younger than you aren't supposed to die. I was also devastated to learned it had happened a month earlier, but at least I was told, and in time to attend the memorial service in his hometown.
That's where I was today, essentially in Rockford, at the church he'd attended as a child. I wasn't sure I'd know anyone there but a testament to him, a lot of friends and family showed up. We heard his dad tell funny stories and held our breaths as he tried to compose himself. We heard a few friends go up and tell stories as well, ones that made us laugh because they were so Erik. Later, the first person to go up--who was also at that Halloween party, and who was the person to take the picture of me as Cinderella, not that she'd remember--would tell us she'd wanted to tell a story, but so many of her stories about Erik weren't appropriate to share in front of, say, his grandmother. Damn it, Erik! But that was him. And it's been a good five years since I saw many in this group; there have been marriages and children and more children and bought houses and so many other things. It was lovely to see them, and nice to know that they remember me again and have double-checked my contact info, which hasn't changed, so perhaps I'll see more of them. It's a shame it took Erik's death for this to happen, but at least it did.
I may or may not go into this more later in the week, but I have one last thing to mention. I'd worn my favorite necklace, the black and crystal one I'd made. Because it's long, I kept tucking it down the front of my shirt while I was driving and then using the washroom, but I pulled it out once I was settled. As we were leaving the pew once the service was over, my friend's wife, who had been sitting next to me, tapped me as we'd started walking away and asked if it was mine. She was holding the treble clef charm that had been attached to one of the pieces of fringe. I grabbed the necklace to discover it was missing and some of the little beads were coming off; I probably left a few where I was sitting without realizing it. I was sad to discover that, but it should be a relatively easy fix depending on what beads were missing. But I thought it was curious that it was the musical charm that came off, because I spent part of the service thinking about how he was musical, and we'd had a conversation (likely in his journal) about my song, and I was so impressed by what he'd said. I'd wished I'd known sooner how musical he was. But I'm sure there was a lot about him I didn't know, and may never know. But I know that what I knew was worth knowing.
It was 2003, which I remember for several reasons. It was the year my father put in our wood floors. Halloween was on a Friday, and since I worked at the bookstore on Friday nights, I was dressing up to get ready. I was Cinderella that year and it was a pain to do my hair. The doorbell kept ringing and I kept having to stop. Well, except for when dad was using the saw in the (closed) garage; it would freak out some of the kids, who would run away. That part of it was amusing. But finally I had to fetch him out of the garage so he could answer the door and I could finish getting ready. As I expected, the costume was a hit, and several kids at the mall asked if I was really Cinderella. I had to tell them my glass slippers were in the shop or something like that, but I had on otherwise fancy shoes.
Sven's party that year was the next day, and I wore the costume again. The thing about that party is that exactly two people (or, at least, two girls) wore a color other than black: Me, and my friend Heather, dressed as a flapper in a bright red dress. We stood out. And that was how I found myself getting hit on by a record three drunk guys I'd never met before. My previous record: Zero. My record since: Also zero. So it must have been a pretty good costume. Of the three, I don't remember what the one did, probably just general awkward stuff. Another one, whom I'd deemed the creepiest of the three, claimed he could sober up *like that!*, snapping his fingers, to which I basically rolled my eyes. I'd been the first to eat a cupcake that night, and discovered the toppers in the icing were little finger puppets, I believe. He then went around making people eat the cupcakes so he could get the toppers and put them on all my fingers, at least on one hand. Really, do you think that's appropriate? Meanwhile--and this was the point that was most upsetting to me at the time--was that I'd mentioned my birthday was in three weeks and I'd be 26. He told me I was "well preserved for my age." ...I was freaking 25. REALLY? Yeah, THAT'S the way to a girl's heart. I'm not sure I ever saw him again after that, but I was happy to avoid him, because really. No.
The third guy saw me and said something I didn't understand. He may have been mumbling slightly. I probably gave him a puzzled look, and then he said, "I told you 'you look very beautiful' in Greek." ...Oh my God. I totally just got hit on by a nerd, but in the most awesomely nerdy way. Having studied Latin in high school...wow. I'm terrible with names, so when he gave me his, I went, oh, that's my cousin's name! He seemed incredibly put out by that. What, it's a way for me to remember who you are. I'm not equating you to my cousin.
That was not the only place I'd run into Erik, or Rob (the first guy); years later, at least one of them was greatly relieved to discover he was not the creepiest person I'd met at the party. Oh, no. It turned out they'd gone to college with my high school friends, and many of them made it back up this way, so at various parties over the years we'd see each other. The most memorable of the others was when we were at a friend's house, while he was still living at home, and Erik, Rob, and I got into a conversation about the Lord of the Rings movies, which I'd never seen; still haven't. They were horrified at this thought and were going to kidnap me and make me watch them all. Guys, at least I've read the books! I'm not a total heathen! Partway through this conversation, the host's brother wandered over and joined in, and after a while I managed to literally back away from the conversation, much like you might see in movies or on TV. I didn't realize that could actually work until then.
Within a couple years of meeting, Erik was off to California, and I didn't see him much after that. But, through the magic of LiveJournal, we kept in touch.
-- He was the one who informed me about the Peruvian Death Flu.
-- He was the most concerned when I questioned what was going on with me when I ultimately had my scary migraine, then, once he knew I was okay, bugged me to make a certain phone call that had been discussed earlier in the month.
-- He also surprised me with musical knowledge when I wrote my song. Before then, I had no idea he knew music.
Over time, his use of LJ faded; so many people moved over to Facebook. I missed the stories about his students--he was my fancy professor friend--and his animals and The Lovely Wife and the funny things she said. My favorite tales involved the lap chicken. Because, really, how many people have a lap chicken? (His wife is a vet, I should mention.) He also enjoyed cooking and baking and I liked reading his recipes. The last time I was in contact with him was last August, judging by his most recent post in his journal.
I got a jolt last Tuesday when our mutual friend Andy commented in my anniversary post, the one asking for people to say hello. That was when Andy broke the news that we'd lost Erik last month. I instantly knew what he meant, so I didn't make a smart-ass comment about trying to find him, and yet I was in disbelief. Erik was going to be the guy sitting around telling stories and drinking whisky when he was 70, imparting his wisdom to everyone's kids, who were finally old enough to do such a thing. Plus, he was two years younger than me. People younger than you aren't supposed to die. I was also devastated to learned it had happened a month earlier, but at least I was told, and in time to attend the memorial service in his hometown.
That's where I was today, essentially in Rockford, at the church he'd attended as a child. I wasn't sure I'd know anyone there but a testament to him, a lot of friends and family showed up. We heard his dad tell funny stories and held our breaths as he tried to compose himself. We heard a few friends go up and tell stories as well, ones that made us laugh because they were so Erik. Later, the first person to go up--who was also at that Halloween party, and who was the person to take the picture of me as Cinderella, not that she'd remember--would tell us she'd wanted to tell a story, but so many of her stories about Erik weren't appropriate to share in front of, say, his grandmother. Damn it, Erik! But that was him. And it's been a good five years since I saw many in this group; there have been marriages and children and more children and bought houses and so many other things. It was lovely to see them, and nice to know that they remember me again and have double-checked my contact info, which hasn't changed, so perhaps I'll see more of them. It's a shame it took Erik's death for this to happen, but at least it did.
I may or may not go into this more later in the week, but I have one last thing to mention. I'd worn my favorite necklace, the black and crystal one I'd made. Because it's long, I kept tucking it down the front of my shirt while I was driving and then using the washroom, but I pulled it out once I was settled. As we were leaving the pew once the service was over, my friend's wife, who had been sitting next to me, tapped me as we'd started walking away and asked if it was mine. She was holding the treble clef charm that had been attached to one of the pieces of fringe. I grabbed the necklace to discover it was missing and some of the little beads were coming off; I probably left a few where I was sitting without realizing it. I was sad to discover that, but it should be a relatively easy fix depending on what beads were missing. But I thought it was curious that it was the musical charm that came off, because I spent part of the service thinking about how he was musical, and we'd had a conversation (likely in his journal) about my song, and I was so impressed by what he'd said. I'd wished I'd known sooner how musical he was. But I'm sure there was a lot about him I didn't know, and may never know. But I know that what I knew was worth knowing.