Journal Journey
Week 2: 10 January 2016
My friend Jonathan left San Francisco last week, and it’s made me more than a bit nostalgic. And forlorn. I think I can point to him as the impetus, both directly and indirectly, for some of the most amazing events in my life. That’s why this story still makes me so disappointed in myself; it’s the one and only time I that I saw him get angry, really angry. Because of me.
Jon and I met in the summer of 1991. He was part of a pretty big story I was covering (remind me to tell you the rest of that one), but he casually paced back and forth in front of the pool of some sub-par student housing, dealing with all the reporters and media and cops with a calm and grace that’s still vivid in my mind.
In a series of odd twists and lucky coincidences, a few years later, Jon and I ended up in a pretty great band together in Tallahassee called flanders. We wrote together. We recorded. We toured. We flirted with success, and — most of the time — we had a ball. But five years later, parked outside a club in Rochester, New York, on a rainy afternoon, this same lanky, gentle man who I had seen keep such elegant composure under unreal circumstances came unglued because I wouldn’t put down my GameBoy. Seriously.
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What follows are the ramblings of a young 20-something who had just disappointed himself and the kindest man he’s ever known.
30 July 1996
In the back of the van parked in front of the Bug Jar in Rochester, NY, ready to cry. It’s dark here, and quiet, save for the passing of the traffic that occasionally rocks the van back and forth as it glides by on the rain-soaked streets. I sit here, soaking in my own melancholy for the martyr that I am. To Jon, I am a little shit. To Julie, I am something to put up with. To Brian, I am the guitar player. To myself, I am alone. I wonder if … well, I wonder lots of things; should I quit now? Should I wait ’til we get home? Can I wait that long? What will my penance be? Do I deserve penance? Am I as bad as they say? Do I want to quit, or is that the heat of the moment deciding for me? I miss Jen. I long to be with her now, watching her eat a meal I’ve made for her, watching TV that would make Harlan Ellison’s skin crawl, waiting for nothing to happen because that’s when I’m most at home. It’s too dark to see, but that’s awkwardly appropriate for the time. There are so many perceptions of what transpired that I can’t see anything clearly, not even this page. I’m burning for confrontation, but I know that will not help the 5 days we have left in this box on wheels. I’ve been silent for so long now, I hope that I can keep up this facade until I get home; then, I hope it is channeled appropriately away from those I care about. Then why do I need for it to come out now? Don’t I care about them? (Rhetorical, because right now, I can’t see the answer.)
“Just put the bag on the floor.”
“Just stop playing your game.”
“Can’t you see I’m doing something?”
“Don’t you know I’m getting out so we can unload?”
“Not on my lap.”
“It’s just a game. It’s just a game, you little shit!”
You little shit! You little shit!
You are a shit, that’s why. Jon is about the most patient person I know. He puts up with …
That’s where the entry for that day ends. What’s funny to me now is that the very next entry in that tour diary is from less than three months later, when flanders had just finished our second night playing with Jawbox, and I was on top of the world.
I went to Jonathan’s going away party on Wednesday. He was surrounded by friends and coworkers—people who obviously love him, and rightly so. I didn’t get to see him as much as I should have while we both shared an area code again, but the best part of our relationship now is that I know we can always pick up right where we left off. And move forward. And make more memories together. Good ones.
But I hope I never disappoint anyone like that ever again.
