An X in the sky, and Xs in the eyes.

Two jet plane trails, intersected low in the eastern sky. How far apart were they when they crossed?

So my lovely friend A____ sent me a loaf of my favorite bread from the bakery we both worked at together (she is still there). How does she always know exactly what i need? One slice of Apricot-Wheat Soda Bread, and i'm transported back to a former life; a happy life. Curious how that works. It is Toasted Perfection.

So somewhere on the web, there is a blog called "The List", or something, where people are getting together and leaving lists of 365 (or so) people they have met in their lives. And i think the catch is that you have to actually remember their names, and have something relatively telling to say about them. I think i'd like to get in on this, maybe, and start out today with two people in particular. Two of my friends "who've died!" as the Jim Carroll Band song goes.

First off: Heather B. What can i say about Heather? For one, she was my Namesake. Possibly the first "Other Heather" i ever met. We attended high school together, at the alternative high school where they send all the fuck-ups. She had a snarky smile, green eyes, freckles, big boobs, long brown (sometimes black) hair, and said she was Wiccan, which was something i'd never heard of. She always had on multiple silver rings and necklaces, usually pagan or celtic symbols. She was one of the boldest people i've ever met; witty and sarcastic and pretty much always the center of attention. She would often meow like a pissed-off kitten vixen; she also enjoyed reptiles and cackling with maniacal glee. i got stuck in a tiny elevator with her once. She was so angry, and hollered the whole time, which makes me smile remembering it.
But probably the one thing i remember her most for, was walking around on the street with her and my best friend J__, underneath the BART tracks behind her apartment building one night. Some shady-seeming guys ambled over towards us, and somehow or another words were exchanged (did i mention that Heather was snarky?); one of the guys actually pulled out a goddamn gun, and pointed it right at us. Sideways, of course, with one hand. i was so scared i couldn't move a muscle; i think that's the first time i truly understood the phrase "rooted to the spot"... J__ started slowly backing away, and we both told Heather to "shut up, please just shut the fuck up..." but she continued harrassing the guy, telling him that if he was going to pull a fucking gun on her, he'd better at least have the balls to use it. Somehow, after feeling like i was underwater for five minutes (but which in real time was probably more like one), the guys walked away, calling us "stupid" and "bitches", and also, i think, "stupid bitches". Heather turned around and continued on our walk as though nothing had happened. i don't think we ever even talked about that again.
She passed away a few months ago, due to an overdose of prescription drugs in her system. i don't yet know if her family has found out whether or not it was self-inflicted. She was on a lot of meds; some for back pain, some for mood disorder. Heather, you are sadly missed, which is weird because i haven't even seen you in years.

My second remembrance is Dory. Dory went to my middle school, and when i saw him it was love at first sight. He came walking along in his uncertain, bouncy way, guitar case in hand, shoulder-length wavy hair covering his face, ripped-up jeans and a flannel shirt over a band T-shirt; probably Nirvana. He was unlike anyone i had ever seen. However, i was one of the more unpopular girls (something that i'd been afflicted with my whole school career), and knew he'd never even notice me.
So i began to follow him home. Yep, exactly like a lost puppy. i'd try and hang back far enough so that he wouldn't see me, and i'm still not sure how well that worked. He lived in a part of town i was very unfamiliar with; this only served to add to the allure and mystery.
He played guitar and sang, and listened to a lot of the same music as me (Nirvana, Metallica, Pearl Jam, Guns N Roses), and i swear- he might have even had facial hair in the 7th grade (er- 8th grade? Can't remember too well.) I found his home phone number in the school directory somehow, and began to call him. Every day, after school. Just to hear him talk... to hear him say, "Hello? Who is this? I know this is you..." even though he never actually said my name, so i was never sure if he actually knew it was me or not. Probably did, though :) I was never very good at hiding my feelings for someone.
So we existed in the same circle of friends throughout high school; got drunk together on numerous occasions, and got high on even more. He formed a band, "Dory Tourette and the Skirtheads", and they shocked and delighted the audience at the Teen Center in the quiet town of Albany, CA with lyrics like "she's only 9, and she's all mine" and a song whose chorus was simply "Fat Ken-ny", alluding to a fairly heavy-set girl we all knew, who i actually ended up being friends with later. We never talked about that song, though, thankfully.
Dory had a really adorable way of playing hackey-sack; he would sort of tap it repeatedly with the tip of his shoe, sending it up in the air a meager 2 or 3 inches, over and over again. It was sort of like watching a soccer star play keepy-uppy with a soccer ball on his knee, but with marijuana and beer involved. The rest of us would wait patiently as he tapped it for as long as he could, with his hair always in his face, until inevitably it would hit the ground. Good times.
And once, at Thousand Oaks Park, drinking 40s in the middle of the night, he kissed me next to a chain-link fence. I was so happy at that moment, even though it was probably the worst kiss i've ever had in my life. Oh, well- alcohol can have that affect on romance, as more than a few of you probably know. But i'll never forget that feeling of elation, all the same.
The last few times i saw Dory, he was playing guitar for money on 4th street, which is sort of a chichi shopping area situated ironically down by the train tracks in Berkeley. I was usually with nat on those days, as he worked down in the area and we'd meet for coffee. i would exchange a smile and a nod with Dory, not much more... i don't know when that really happened, but it happens more than people realize. It's weird when you realize that you might not have something to say to someone that you used to hang out and even pass out with. I remember thinking, "i hope he's still playing music; having shows..." and i found out recently that he was, to a degree. He had gone through a bad period; his anti-social tendencies had begun to get the best of him, but in the months before his death he was looking up, or so it seemed.
Dory passed away recently, also due to an overdose of prescription drugs. Again, it is not clear whether this was self-motivated, or just a bad accident. Either way, it was definitely a tragedy. As my brother once remarked to me: It always seemed like Dory had to try a little harder than everyone else, just to get by. And that was true, i think. I truly miss him.
Oh, and one more while i'm gripped by Albany Nostalgia: Joey G. Joey was the type of guy who everyone knew; he was always in a million places at once it seemed. He would visit my mom's house all the time, and was difficult to take in large doses. He had a great guffawing laugh, and would often rollerblade down Solano Avenue with his shirt off and tied around his waist. He had big, wide-open eyes and curly hair and dimples, and was always air-drumming. He had specific sounds he'd give to each air-drum component in the set, and actually gave my younger brother some exceptional drum lessons in this manner.
I had moved out of my mom's house when he died, but my brother still lived there and told me that the last time he saw him, they'd had some completely idiotic fight which was based entirely on a misunderstanding/miscommunication of sorts. I think one of them pushed the other into a planter on the sidewalk; there was alcohol involved, of course. My bro didn't see him again until we heard the bad news. He aways wished that they could have reconciled.
Joey passed away after getting in a motorcycle accident on the freeway. He'd always been so into motorcycles. He was wearing a helmet, he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, i think. Joey was one of those people who as a flame burned very brightly, just for a shorter time. Even though it was really easy to discuss his more annoying habits, everyone knew Joey, and for years after he passed away my mom always told me she still half-expected to see him sailing down Solano Ave. on his roller blades, or come breezing through our front door (we were that house in the neighborhood where people tended to congregate; the front door was rarely locked). His wake was standing-room only.

next time: something cheery, i promise?