12.05.02 I want to talk about Adam. Cause nobody does. About what happened. About what we all tend to forget. It's like everyone has just fucking forgotten - and even a year later, it is as fresh in my nightmares as the day it was reality. I think about him a whole fucking lot lately. It was September. Right after the whole 9-11 thing. And we were talking about that and the smell of fall. How good it was to know that fall had its own smell... And he was always talking about school & we had the same major, so our talks would intertwine & tangle - school, double-dueces, birthdays, the Pulsar, turntables, Boyfriend (Adam's best friend in the world), getting "krunk", the basement & the "foamy-roam", going to parties, hanging out on Rebecca Lane, everything. And on September 17th, 2001, Boyfriend bought a new honda. He was soooo fucking proud of it that he brought it by my job to show it off... and then off to Adam's apartment to talk about how it was going to get new rims, speakers, and a body kit... As he was driving to the apartment, he stopped to pick up another one of our friends that was walking from the "Corner" to "115"... that is how he found out. Adam had invited us over the night before to hang out. Usually, we would have just gone, but I wanted to stay home and watch a stupid David Blaine special on the tube. That night, Adam, his girl, & his sister partied hard. The girls fell asleep early and Adam stayed up drinking 40's and eating Xanax. Boyfriend thinks that if we'd have gone, Adam wouldn't have been up alone and he could have somehow prevented the whole trajedy. I think that if we'd gone I could've partied with him that night - his last one - and we'd have been here TODAY... talking. Sister said that at about 2 am, Adam woke her up and asked to get "hooked up" with some oxycotins. She said no way & fell asleep. According to some friends, he got hooked up anyways. Sometime before 8 am, Adam layed down beside his girlfriend, put his arm over her shoulder, and fell asleep for the last time. The day after the funeral, we were asked to help clean out his apartment. The bedroom was a fucking wreck from where the paramedics had moved the bed and "worked on him"... he had asperated. (choked on his own vomit)... I broke down in his blood-stained floor and puked on his carpet. Everyone came to my house after the funeral & everything was over. We listened to his mix-tape, and Boyfriend sat on the floor in front of the speakers and cried. Rocking back and forth. You've never seen so much beer and crying going on in one house... 60 or so kids sitting around my house sobbing... And the emergency room doctor that pronounced him dead, spoke at the funeral along with preachers and family... He told the whole church - very bluntly - exactly what happened. His mother spoke also, saying that if we (his friends) had one thing to do to remember and honor her little boy, it was to "clean up" and stop popping pills and drinking like we were gonna live forever. I have only been to his grave once since that day. It is littered with notes, candles, flowers, and even beer bottles. Everyone fucking loved him so much. He was only 21 years old. And going there just reminds me of how fragile the human body is. How I continue to poison myself daily with alchohol, pills, and whatever - and I can't handle it... And I think about his girlfriend, who rolled over that September morning and kissed a cold cheek. And this is the first and last that I will speak of it. I miss you, Adam. |
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