sorry this is so long

"I never understood why when you died, you didn't just vanish, everything could just keep going on the way it was only you just wouldn't be there"

Sean carried a navy blue backpack every Friday night. He called it his knapsack and carried it religiously every Friday night. He stood six foot one, too skinny for his height, weighing in at one hundred and thirty pounds, even. The knapsack looked almost empty to a stranger, but I knew that in it Sean carried approximately, a bagillion CD’s. Some were mixes I had made for him, those ones were blue with sharpie drawings of sunflowers and pea-pods and lighthouses scribbled on them. The CD’s carried the songs we listened to every Friday night. Those were the songs we felt, deep in our throats and hearts and stomachs and down in our bony knees, every Friday night. Sean’s favorite was “Ceremony” by New Order. He’d skip to the track and then whip around to look at our faces. We’d smile because we expected this song and because it was his favorite. He survived on the warmth that radiated from our smiles and from the music, already deep down inside of us. The song would carry us. Marisa would carry herself up and begin dancing slowly. She would move her hips as if the breeze was pulling them from side to side and she would close her eyes as she moved. Someone might whistle, but Sean would just stare.

This was the spring we spent driving up to Philosopher’s Point at sunset. The things we carried were ourselves. Our arms were full and yet only with the essentials that we needed to be the people we were. Matt carried a red fleece blanket as a bundle in his arms, a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and a whittling knife. Just in case, he said, you never know when you’ll find that perfect piece of wood, he said. Sean carried a knapsack full of CD’s and one hundred and thirty pounds, even. Sophia carried a brown bag lunch for us to share and her cell phone. 

Sophia perfected the art of texting that spring; rapid fire texting. Everyone would roll their eyes at hearing the typical vibration from the back pocket of her jeans. “Timmy?” I’d ask and she’d smile sadly. We all knew not to ask why he hadn’t come along. Timmy hardly ever came along that spring, but when he did he carried an orange bottle of morphine, a blank stare, and a lag in his step.

I carried my old leather purse slung over my shoulder. The purse carried a map of New York City, gum, a disposable camera, cherry Chapstick, Andrew Jackson gold coins and my grandmother’s collection of matchbooks. Sean would tell me he liked my purse. “That’s an awesome purse” he said. My leather purse smelled like mint and whiskey and I carried it everywhere. And Sean liked my purse and I liked Sean.

David carried a wooden tobacco pipe because he thought it was very scholastic. He also carried his oversized Panasonic RP-HTX7 headphones around his neck even though we were always listening to Sean’s CD’s and David was never listening to his Panasonic headphones.

Marisa carried black sunglasses and a sense of style. She also carried a paperback book. It was always different but usually it was written by Albert Camus.

That spring we went out every Friday night to live. I remember we’d say, “look! Look at what a beautiful world we live in!” Our eyes soared over the yellow and green hills rolling down the horizon to the city of Berkeley and beyond that, infinity. “Rolling hills,” we’d say, “that’s California, green rolling hills.”

Sometimes we would drink. Matt carried his Pabst up to Philosopher’s Point and sometimes Marisa would carry a bottle of red wine she took from her parents. We’d drink, not to be drunk or to party, but to feel warm and to feel as young as we are. And it was fun and Sean would put on “Ceremony” and say this was the happiest he’d ever been and I would feel in my knees that I needed to hold his hand.

That spring Timmy had anxiety attacks. I never knew exactly what happened, but I remember Sophia called me because Timmy was in the hospital. Suicide watch, they said. Emergency watch. A bad reaction to his medicine, his mom said. This made me feel something like nostalgia and I don’t know why and I wondered if my friend Timmy wanted to die.

On Friday nights I went out with my friends to live. We thought if we climbed trees and drove up mountains we’d be more alive. I guess we wanted to reach the top of the world.