EVAPORATED
Every once in a while, I get nostalgic and think of old friends long evaporated. I remember times in the past when everything was smaller - and in turn I felt much bigger, much more meaningful. I don't know what happens along the way to change things, but I am left with the hollow recollection of things passed, and events deflated.
I remember the late nights with Chad and Jeremiah. Sometimes we'd drink, but usually we just sat in a vague circle and spoke an joked. We debated, idealogicized, we laughed, we acted like asses. In the winter time, when we got drunk, Chad and Jeremiah would want to take a walk into the cold. I would refuse because I was drunk and I didn't want to be cold, and they would leave me behind, venture off into the cold night, and come back perhaps an hour later cold but happy. I should have gone with them.
Further back, I remember Mike Acocello. The last time I saw him was when I was 18. We spent maybe a collective week and a half together, between his home in South Carolina, my home, and Chicago. I remember him picking me up at the airport in his car. While we drove to his house, for perhaps the first time I heard Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. The song now belongs to Mike in my memory. I remember going to the comic shop in Columbia, finding a Soul Whirling Somewhere CD at the record store next to it, and Mike allowing me to listen to it on his Play Station while we slept that night. I haven't spoken to Mike in probably four years. There was no falling out; there was just a fading away. I hope to see him again, at least once. I hope to speak with him again, and soon.
Then I think about the events. The party at Molly Callahan's Dad's house. Everyone was there. We got drunk and, because it was far away from busy roads, lied down in the street and looked at the stars. It's so hard to explain, but everything seemed bigger then. To use the cliche, everything seemed larger than life. Now I know it was youthful arrogance.
I'm not big, I'm just me. I'm not spoiled or selfish or arrogant anymore. I just want to get along, and I miss my friends. I'm no longer good for an argument because I see no real point in "winning." (Let's face facts, I don't think it's possible to win an argument.)
And God, I miss them. I miss them all. I miss Jeremiah and the things we did. I miss the Thursday visits with Brad in his office. I miss lying awake all night with Chad, discussing love, life, and the chances of finding someone who I could share those two things with. I certainly miss Mike, and I do in fact miss all the other odl characters of my life who have long since extinguished.
That isn't to say I'm sad. These days, I believe that missing things and people from the past is just a sign that you were doing things right, and I'm absolutely certain that I'll miss this time soon, too.
It's like how I think nostalgically of early nights with Carolyn. We're so old already... we get so tired that we often are in bed by 1030 or 11. When we first met, we'd stay up til 1am talking, and I miss that. I remember the sad, powerful nights at the bus station in Niagara Falls, and I miss it. I miss the night we walked back from having seen Pumpkin together, too.
Yep, I think it's just a way of knowing that you've been doing things right. I truly hope that I always generate that kind of memory - the one so meaningful to me, so powerful, that for years afterward I will remember it with a kind of charged up wonder that will keep me awake at night, inspire me to write, and cause me to dream.