One weekend back in 2018, my roommate and spirit-brother Matt and I rented a Cadillac (that we didn’t pay for) and drove up to Portland to go to see our friends and visit the same two or three bars and restaurants we frequented back when we were still trapped there. We used to do this every six months . . . we’d wait for a three-day weekend and then PACK UP and grab some drugs and drive ten hours north up I-5 through Northern California all the way to Portland. Man, it’s a real good drive. I think I’ve done it probably 20 times now, there and back again. It’s 630 miles of mostly wilderness and you pass through a bunch of weird little towns. When Matt and I did these trips, it was mostly about The Drive . . . we’d play Townes Van Zandt and chug coffee and talk about g-g-girls. When we felt like stopping to look at trees and rivers and shit, we’d stop. Taken altogether, this was certainly more interesting than the entire city of Portland.
Anyway: I asked my good friend Kelsey if she could stay at our place and watch Dante, who despite trying to sometimes mask it with a cool indifference, was actually an emotionally needy and vulnerable guy (just like me (lol)). He had to have someone stay with him at the house or else he got too lonely, so I never left him alone. You know? I wanted him to have a friend with him. And so Kelsey kindly spent all weekend with Dante while Matt and I slept in a Cadillac next to a cemetery in Portland after a long day of helping some strange dude deliver Xanax door to door.
Sometime later, Kelsey told me she had gotten a roll of film developed and gave me the photos she had taken of Dante that weekend, mostly of him sitting in his chair (he had his own chair):
Two nights ago, I was going through the containers I have stored in my grandma’s condo, which I will soon ship across the sea. And I found a little cigar box where I keep all my photos. And inside I came across those pictures Kelsey had given me and I immediately started crying. It was one of those cries that comes on suddenly and forcefully, like I could not have anticipated it, and probably needed it. I sat down on the carpet and spread these photos out and looked at them all for the first time in years.
Dante’s face was so expressive and photogenic. The guy was soulful! You can tell even in photos that he was intelligent and complicated. I miss him every day. It has been a year and my life still feels so empty without him. Well, it’s just true that my life was much better with him in it. I don’t suppose that ever goes away. Eventually you just make terms with it. I just wonder what happens if that never comes to pass for me.
Last year when Dante died, Kelsey sent me this picture of him from that weekend. I had never seen it before. For nearly sixteen years, Dante woke me up every morning by standing on my chest and gazing into my eyes while gently pawing at my face. When I was away, he transferred this gesture to whomever he was reliant on for food. Anyone who ever watched Dante told me he had done this. Dante was always sweetest in the morning. I would give anything to wake up to him again.
