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Today I was looking on the internet for an old friend, and found that he had died last year.
His name was Ian.
He had a problem with drugs, alcohol, meth, heroine, you name it. He was a crazy loud mouth punk rocker. He had a green mohawk, he was rebellious, he cut himself up, skipped school, drank 40's with bums, slept under bridges, made insane ink drawings, wrote poetry, played the drums, made me laugh.
His ex girlfriend tried to kick my ass when I made out with him.
He was one crazy mother fucker. I loved that guy in high school. But he pissed me off so much, he just couldn't get clean.
His mom tried to get him to quit smoking, she got him the patch. So he put a few patches on his arm, drew on them, and lit up another cigarette.
His mom was alright as I remember, just a little too much into kooky new age spirituality.
I was staying with my friend Lena and her mom Beri, Beri was a counselor. Ian and his mom had came over for counseling one evening. While his mom was alone with Beri, Ian started acting all crazy, we thought he was having an acid flashback. We were 15. . .
Me and a friend named Albert decided to take Ian for a walk, see if we could cool him off. We walked a few blocks over to our friend Kenny's house.
Kenny had a few boa constrictors. He also wore way too many safety pins and none of us took him seriously. He was like a precurser to these "goth" kids you see now who listen to Korn and Manson and buy their clothes at Hot Topic. Ian proceeded to threaten Kenny with his own boas. We wrestled him off of poor old Kenny and continued our walk.
We walked a few miles, through the neighborhoods, through shopping centers, through vacant lots, playgrounds and parks. At one time we were walking on this long and narrow bike path by the marsh, it was so dark out, you could only see the pier lights and the blinking airport lights, blue and red and green. The dank marsh, the reeds and some mysterious brisk rotting smell in the cool sea air. We came to the beach.
Ian had calmed down by then. We tried to sleep for awhile, as it was well past midnight, in a litte curve of cliff. But it was too windy and cold so we headed over to Isla Vista, where the university and all the student housing is. It's a big party neighborhood, right on the beach, tons of cafes and bars and parks, and weirdos.
Little did we know, or care, as we were inconsiderate teenagers, that Ians mom has contacted her psychic, who's trying to channel into where we were and what we were doing, trying to see if he could retrieve us for her.
We sat in a 24 hour cafe, drinking cup after cup of coffee. After a few hours, this photographer dude asked me and Ian to pose for him, he was trying to get us to be all sexy for the camera. We fucked it up, but he bought us more coffee. Then he offered us all a ride home. We figured him as a child molestor, but we outnumbered him 3 to 1. So we jumped in his car. He had a 100 hundred or so disc changer which seemed to be completely filled with television show theme songs. He would play them for 5-10 seconds and then switch to the next maniacly. He was weird as hell but he brought us home without harming a hair.
I don't quite remember the next bit. Parents were angry, we got grounded, scolded, shamed and all that, as well we deserved it. "Why didn't you just call us?" They asked. And there's never a good reason for that question. . .

Well that's my memory of Ian, who died of drugs. . . Rest in peace, you bastard.