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Published On: Apr 26, 2006 10:02 PM
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Published On: Apr 26, 2006 10:02 PM
Remembering...
You take certain chances when you read something
in the "It's All About Me" folder, y'know. As often as not you might read
something that depresses you. This might do that. You are forewarned. Whether
you end up having four arms is up to you.
During my college years, I was involved, I suppose, in a few ventures that could be considered "households." One that stands out in my mind was the summer of 1993.
I had scored an awesome internship through a canoeing class I took. My mission (as I chose to accept it) was to provide recreational programming at a public campground in a larger recreation area. I would live out there and basically run activities on the weekends and holidays, while doing office time/planning/etc during the week. This was my second choice; the first one was working for the National Park Service by hiking through the Smokey Mountains all summer long to... I don't even remember. Some sort of survey of backcountry areas or something. They turned me down, but then changed their minds, but it was too late. I had already committed to the campground.
There were two of us, I later discovered, who would share a trailer at the campground. I arrived, and met Adam. Adam was a motorcyclist and a bicyclist. Not a biker-biker. He rode crotch rockets with Japanese names. He raced both kinds of bikes, and had brought along his Ninja.
Adam was cool. I was at the time trying to grow my hair out again and was meeting the resistance that anyone with naturally curly hair is familiar with (every time you look in the mirror you promise yourself that tomorrow gravity will take over and pull that Afro down your back). Adam had straight hair halfway down his back. We didn't really look that much alike. I never thought so. People constantly got us confused, though, mainly because of the similarity of our names (someone actually got so flustered about it once that she defended herself by saying I should be flattered to be confused for him).
I'd had roommates before, of course, and somehow it never worked out. We would always end up hating each other. That summer, though, Adam and I formed a household. We divided responsibilities -- we would take turns cooking, split the food costs when we went shopping, take turns keeping water in the vermicomposting bin... that kind of thing. We also had a great time -- similar tastes in music, tolerably similar tastes in TV (although I still just don't understand Home Improvement), and laid back personalities. Several times that summer his fiance came in to visit, and we would have a third member of our household (they were both from Virginia, so this was a very special treat that, for liability reasons, our boss could never know about).
We often went mountain biking, swimming, canoeing in the middle of the night, and anything else that could be done. We'd take turns sometimes running the recreation programs so the other could go to a concert or a cookout at some other location in the recreation area. We just functioned amazingly well together. Even my parents liked him, and we went to have supper with them a few times.
Summer ended, of course, about 12 weeks after it started. School resumed, but I looked back on that summer with fondness. I now had a new major -- Outdoor Recreation, based on my experiences out there. To say that Adam and I lost touch would be putting too fine a point on it. He didn't contact me and I didn't contact him ONCE after he left (a week before I did).
That's something I have to live with now. After that summer, Adam graduated with his degree in forestry. He got a job outside his field -- showcasing bikes for BMW. While riding on the highway on February 21st 1994, he went under a truck.
A week after that happened, I got a call from a co-worker who was still working at the recreation area. Wayne called me up and shot the shit for a few moments, then said "I have some bad news. Adam was riding his motorcycle and was hit by a truck. He died instantly." For the next thirty seconds or so, I remember releasing the longest most amazingly profane series of words that have EVER poured forth from my mouth. I don't remember the words; sometimes I wish I did. Then I took a deep breath, said "Wayne, I'm not very good company right now. I'll call you back later." and hung up (those of you who are perceptive are by now probably seeing a pattern to my griefs. Yeah, it's really similar to when Rachel died).
I grieved for a while, and called my mom. She never knows how to react to these things. I distinctly remember her saying "That's such a shame; he was so good-looking!" That made me laugh then, and it still does.
I'm not a megalomaniac. I don't believe that the world revolves only around me. And for that reason, I don't believe that Adam was born so that one day he would teach me about living and co-running a household. He did that, but he did a lot more than that, too. He probably taught me things I'll never realize he taught me. But I won't forget him. Ten years later, I remember.
I used to get drunk every year to commemorate his death. I don't really do that anymore, but I would like to do something to remembrance him. If any of you are so inclined, raise a glass for someone who taught me about cooperation and friendship.
During my college years, I was involved, I suppose, in a few ventures that could be considered "households." One that stands out in my mind was the summer of 1993.
I had scored an awesome internship through a canoeing class I took. My mission (as I chose to accept it) was to provide recreational programming at a public campground in a larger recreation area. I would live out there and basically run activities on the weekends and holidays, while doing office time/planning/etc during the week. This was my second choice; the first one was working for the National Park Service by hiking through the Smokey Mountains all summer long to... I don't even remember. Some sort of survey of backcountry areas or something. They turned me down, but then changed their minds, but it was too late. I had already committed to the campground.
There were two of us, I later discovered, who would share a trailer at the campground. I arrived, and met Adam. Adam was a motorcyclist and a bicyclist. Not a biker-biker. He rode crotch rockets with Japanese names. He raced both kinds of bikes, and had brought along his Ninja.
Adam was cool. I was at the time trying to grow my hair out again and was meeting the resistance that anyone with naturally curly hair is familiar with (every time you look in the mirror you promise yourself that tomorrow gravity will take over and pull that Afro down your back). Adam had straight hair halfway down his back. We didn't really look that much alike. I never thought so. People constantly got us confused, though, mainly because of the similarity of our names (someone actually got so flustered about it once that she defended herself by saying I should be flattered to be confused for him).
I'd had roommates before, of course, and somehow it never worked out. We would always end up hating each other. That summer, though, Adam and I formed a household. We divided responsibilities -- we would take turns cooking, split the food costs when we went shopping, take turns keeping water in the vermicomposting bin... that kind of thing. We also had a great time -- similar tastes in music, tolerably similar tastes in TV (although I still just don't understand Home Improvement), and laid back personalities. Several times that summer his fiance came in to visit, and we would have a third member of our household (they were both from Virginia, so this was a very special treat that, for liability reasons, our boss could never know about).
We often went mountain biking, swimming, canoeing in the middle of the night, and anything else that could be done. We'd take turns sometimes running the recreation programs so the other could go to a concert or a cookout at some other location in the recreation area. We just functioned amazingly well together. Even my parents liked him, and we went to have supper with them a few times.
Summer ended, of course, about 12 weeks after it started. School resumed, but I looked back on that summer with fondness. I now had a new major -- Outdoor Recreation, based on my experiences out there. To say that Adam and I lost touch would be putting too fine a point on it. He didn't contact me and I didn't contact him ONCE after he left (a week before I did).
That's something I have to live with now. After that summer, Adam graduated with his degree in forestry. He got a job outside his field -- showcasing bikes for BMW. While riding on the highway on February 21st 1994, he went under a truck.
A week after that happened, I got a call from a co-worker who was still working at the recreation area. Wayne called me up and shot the shit for a few moments, then said "I have some bad news. Adam was riding his motorcycle and was hit by a truck. He died instantly." For the next thirty seconds or so, I remember releasing the longest most amazingly profane series of words that have EVER poured forth from my mouth. I don't remember the words; sometimes I wish I did. Then I took a deep breath, said "Wayne, I'm not very good company right now. I'll call you back later." and hung up (those of you who are perceptive are by now probably seeing a pattern to my griefs. Yeah, it's really similar to when Rachel died).
I grieved for a while, and called my mom. She never knows how to react to these things. I distinctly remember her saying "That's such a shame; he was so good-looking!" That made me laugh then, and it still does.
I'm not a megalomaniac. I don't believe that the world revolves only around me. And for that reason, I don't believe that Adam was born so that one day he would teach me about living and co-running a household. He did that, but he did a lot more than that, too. He probably taught me things I'll never realize he taught me. But I won't forget him. Ten years later, I remember.
I used to get drunk every year to commemorate his death. I don't really do that anymore, but I would like to do something to remembrance him. If any of you are so inclined, raise a glass for someone who taught me about cooperation and friendship.
Posted: Thu - March 25, 2004 at 01:49 PM