Background
This is about someone I knew from 3 to ~13. He (~2 years older than me)/his older brother(~5 years older?) were homeschooled, and we knew each other through a co-op grocery friend group our mom's were part of.At some point we stopped seeing each other. I don't know if it was our parents fighting, life pressures, or something like pressure from a protracted custody battle that probably didn't look favorably on things like a kid stepping on a piece of glass or naively sharing stories about dumpster diving.
I was too young to understand a lot of what was going on, and my memory is a bit muddled. He lived in a dangerous area, and his dad was mostly out of his life. I was told he was illiterate and otherwise stunted in academics, that his brother was sexually active at 10... things like that, from a parent who hasn't always been reliable. From the friend there were stories about crazy neighbors who'd steal or harm pets. He'd give us knives before we walked around his block for protection, side-eyeing people we saw. Random "street smart" advice like how to look starving for pity when selling things for a school fundraiser.
~1-2 years after not getting to see him I got asked who I wanted to invite to my birthday and I was obstinate about only wanting to see him. That led to me being dropped off some afternoon. A little after he started smoking a blunt with an older neighbor on the stoop. I awkwardly turned it down when offered.
The conversation in general was awkward. Maybe he'd been hurt when we stopped seeing each other. Maybe there were other things said I didn't have access too, or he was starting to feel the stress of an adult life that was going to be rough for him. On my end I was excited to see him again... I'd never stopped liking him or thinking he was cool. Probably on the spectrum and selectively mute in school, at least. Like some of the older/alt folks I met a couple years later, there was some feeling of validation by having a friend outside of the system. If I could fit in there, I didn't have to try to fit into regular life.
Some time later when we were inside he pulled a knife on me, and kept yelling "fucking preppy, fucking preppy piece of shit". A lot of my memory is bad, but certain things act as a bit of a checksum for me in memories. Vivid auditory memories like that are usually pretty accurate. I froze, and I'm guessing when the moment passed I made a call to get picked up. I have a small scar near my xiphoid process but I can't recall if I was actually cut.
Years later I saw his mom, who remained friends with an aunt, at an event. She said he was doing okay. He was working as a janitor, got grounded with martial arts, and was on medication for schizophrenia. It recontextualized that maybe some things he said were from early paranoia... evil neighbors or step-sister, a lady who stole stole dogs and fed glass to others, a neighborhood child molester.
I think I later heard he had a daughter and was still well, which I really hope is the case. During a dinner with the aunt a while back she mentioned someone in her friend group had been hurt that no one ever asked her about her son who was in jail, and this guy was who my mind snapped to. Just a hunch. I'm not sure I wanted to know, or maybe just like the aunt/friend group I thought that was intrusive, so I didn't ask.
Buds
Using ThatKidGoran's Nostalgia instrumental
Start at a co-op, past "Stop, collaborate and listen,"[1]
With MTV the root of the intention,
In a basement you wanted to be blood brothers.
Carve out a bond beyond "our mother's knew each other."
You? You had a scab to pick, not exactly courage test.
Me, I had tooth and tack and set to task with pearly set.
It's here I guess I must confess, as minutes crept
It's revealed that I'm invertebrate.
I left a mark but I drew no red,
I bit til it bruised but not til it bled.
The tack went unused, thought I could chew through.
Plans eschewed we hit a local punk show or two.
Head banging hurt but I copped the long hair,
Got blood in buckets from a step on the wrong stair.[2]
What then passed from glass torn gash,
A mad dash of kids shouting "Elevate it, stat."
[I was] all prepared for mum to be the word,
A community production Cartesian theater.
Taught me how to wrap a tourniquet,
Better yet how to turn that ish to grift...
"Suck in your gut, you can sell more magazines."
Dumpster dives get some dope tapestries.
Trash talk wins all debates,[3]
That an open-faced PBH tastes great.
Double digits and functionally illiterate,
But makes elixir from some change and a QuikTrip.[4]
Cracked glowsticks and un-idle hands,
For me it's my first chemical cryomance[5]
Disassemble fireworks, the prep step of the Cookbook,[6]
To recreate army men with shellshock and shook look.
The knowledge was sometimes useful,
But you're the one with dilated pupils as you
Hang out by an overpass, called by that doppler song,
Addicted to the proof that's being youth and doing wrong.[7]
Doppler gang, maybe that's my lead in...
Appear close as kin, then sink in the deep end.
Maybe the folks had a falling out?
Any of a dozen things that could've headed south.
It's a couple years till we meet again, for a birthday wish,
During the visit an unseen switch got flipped, then it's
Flick flick, quick moves of wrist,
Turns a butterfly[8] to something dangerous.
The only hint of that conniption fit,
Was a future for which you were ill-equipped.
Incensed from a turned down dime,
It turns out "I'm good" was not fine.
Somewhere I'd crossed a line.
Walked back until wall met spine. Then,
Up by the xiphoid[9], that's where the knife sits, and I
Find how thin a line divides boy from the divine, or me from the lifeless.
That night since, I realized it could be a
Stranger in the street or kid you idolized.
A second's separation, plus weight on a fine tip.
The lesson learned: freeze, stay pliant.
Heartbeats giving measure to the silence.
We're all adrift in a sea of potential violence,
Despite this, I guess we run a tight ship.[10]
Light from land sighted, skirt shoals, safely alight.
No Set to Osiris[11], last words of the pilot,
Left without light leaking iris, just raised Irish.
Mood of Butcher, Corgan, Kid, or Eilish--
Takes time to decompile it.
Ride home's in slo-mo.
Take stock: a low blow, like highly inapropro.
No gold Acapulco? No Cub and Lone Lobo?[12]
No, champagne and cold roe,
The [world's] quid pro quo of Hogan vs. Stone Cold.[13]
I recognize it's undeserved, a product of the pop that's underserved.
Undeterred my mind overloaded in the moment and the meaning,
Clarity of recall careens,
Dreaming we'd meet again at a time we'd better understand,
Chalk outlines get constricting when you feather in.[14]
You'd curse like sailor with a weathered chin, half a grin,
Well on your path to betterment.
You got a place, a kid, a job-- the way your moms explained it,
A handle on being schizophrenic.
An aunt hints you missed the date of your arraignment... so is it,
"Let us in, let us sin, just jettison the medicine."
Throw out all the rules and all enfetterments.
"Let us win, let's begin", Edison meet elephant...[15]
Or is it mostly just embellishment?
Little bit of column A, little bit of calumny.
Understand you never know, the entrance fee for empathy.
All in all I'll take the hits as just some needed tempering,
Descent from man to Cynic'd be a tempting thing.[16]
Did a woman steal those dogs, did she really feed them glass?
Did you know the address of the neighborhood pederast?
Something in the way you'd patrol while strapped,
There's a truth that's peaking past your parapets...
Looking at me like there's pleated khaki pirouettes, but
Nothings ever meant as a flex to your zef.
But to get that you'd need to stand where I'm at.
He was into hiphop, and Ice Ice Baby (years past out of fashion) was a first karaoke he/his brother did at a place we went with our parents. I forgot the lyrics to Lola (The Kinks) and froze in front of some very friendly drunk folks who started supplying lyrics then singing the song for me, a nice memory. ↩︎
I recall thinking I'd redeem myself/impress them by downplaying things. It was a bit ridiculous thinking I'd cover up a cut that ran over a third of the length of my foot from parents. Shout-out to Danny D. ↩︎
A couple memories of the brothers trying to get me to swear. One chain of a dozen I still remember. ↩︎
My first memory understanding what money did was when we pooled change and walked to a gas station to buy the things needed to make some disgusting(ly good) chocolate concoction. Thought he was very cosmopolitan for that. A parent mentioned they used to raid the pantry when they visited and eat straight cake frosting. Not sure if there was some food insecurity going on. ↩︎
Got introduced to glowsticks from them, which can be frozen to get a little extra life. Went more with deleted lines, but apart from his attraction to violent activities he was openly/refreshingly into ballet and other dance. ↩︎
The Anarchist's Cookbook. One visit he was extracting powder and using it to melt a plastic tank / army figures. ↩︎
Never heard something like him tossing cinderblocks off an overpass, but definitely some stories of property damage. A take is it makes you feel you have efficacy or control. ↩︎
Biggest gaff was misremembering the xiphoid process as something that would've rhymed. Couldn't think of any great replacement so I forced xiphid. ↩︎
Maybe downplaying the event, but I came out appreciating how much goes right in the world by knowing how easily it can go wrong. Most people are pretty decent. ↩︎
Originally "hi to Osiris" for the underworld theme, but the Set myth fit well. ↩︎
Lone Wolf and Cub for a mocking exaggeration of the relationship dynamic. That plus the DC Lobo were also comics I was exposed to around then / the brother and friends liked. ↩︎
Scrapped lines on wrestling, that stuff. Meant to be from his perspective on the unfairness of his situation. ↩︎
Apologies to the graphic designers if you can't use feathering that way. ↩︎
Originally looked at "Lightbringer, not Edison" as a reference for an imp of the pervserse / self-destructive tendencies nod. When I wrote Old Skrat it was loosely based on some hardships of nice country relatives, and violent people I've been around with a more literal inner demon. ↩︎
A lot of the story I got from unreliable rumors/recollections. Trying to understand other's perspective makes it draining to be around people, especially if there's a lot of questionable facts. Not great at turning off that part of my brain. ↩︎