Run, Motherfucker, Run

   I got to the service about an hour early, so wandered around the grounds of St. Oliver’s Catholic Church just smoking like a damn chimney and checking things out. Had to leave early, it was about a hundred mile drive and I didn’t want to get stuck in the 8-9am traffic around the top end perimeter. As it is, it still took me around three hours, counting a stop at Wal-Mart for some new shoes. My boots that I have been wearing to work are still good for working around the house and whatnot, but they look like shit, so I needed a new pair anyway.
   I got to speak to Chris’ mom for a few minutes by herself, which was nice. I told her about how I had felt, and what I had said. She was a pretty big help with dealing with it, but I am still pretty fucked up over the whole thing. His brother Randy said some really nice things about him, you could tell he really felt uncomfortable, but got up and did it anyway. Haven’t seen him in a long time, I guess not since their sister died in ’87. That was a pretty fucked up incident in itself.
   Sat through the whole fucking Catholic service without having to go pee, which was a feat in itself. My wife’s family is catholic, and anyone that is knows exactly what I am talking about. Loooong services. Eleanor and Susan had put together a board with a whole bunch of pictures of Chris’ life that sat out in front of the chapel. We were in a bunch of them. Goddamn everyone looked so young.
   I did see several people that I have not seen in like 20 years or so. I went to the cemetery with them, that did not take quite as long as the service did, which was good because it was hot as a motherfucker. I stuck around to the last, after my friends LP and Steve (and wife) had left. The only ones left when it was time to fill the whole were myself, his brother Randy, and an old friend, Elizabeth. We all threw a handful of dirt in, and watched as the backhoe dumped the dirt in on top of his ashes.
   Eleanor was having a get-together at her place, basically a wake. I was going to go, but just couldn’t bring myself too. I will call her in a couple of days. I want to get her address so I can send her a letter along with a couple of pictures. Instead of going to her place, I stopped at Hooters and had a couple of beers in his honor on the way home. I think that that may have contributed to his death, but I am sure he wouldn’t mind.
   Chris was a true friend. I met him when I was 15, and he was about 17, and he became my defacto big brother that I had never had. We were roommates for a few months back then, kind of drifted apart, then hooked back up a few months later. Chris had a car, which I did not, so he drove us everywhere. We hung together, through thick and thin, for several years. It seems like longer than it actually was, because I was married by 22, and had already started to drift away from that crowd, as I had a job, and a pregnant wife. Chris was still there though. My son was born when Chris was overseas, and we had to use a proxy, but he became my son Christopher’s godfather.
   Maybe I can think of some of the stories and post them down over the next few days. I have to be somewhat careful, although the statute of limitations would have long ago run out on anything that I might have allegedly done, I do have a career to consider.
   The title of this post was actually brought to mind by one of the people there that have known me as long as Chris did. I think that maybe I will wait before posting that one. Just think lockups and mental hospitals. It’s actually quite funny now.