Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die – Part II

This post was half written a couple of months ago as a direct follow-up to Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die – Part I, just before I fell ill and lost part of my hearing. If you notice any jumps between past and present tenses, that’s probably why. 

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After Dad’s memorial service ended, the family packed up into our respective cars and drove off to get a late afternoon lunch at a local Mexican food joint that our dad was always fond of, where my brother, mom, and I got to sit down to a big lunch with the half of the family that we’d only had rare connections with for such a long time, ever since the divorce of our parents and all the drama that tends to go with that sort of event. My dad’s brothers, my uncles Warren and Ken were great through the process of helping Alex and I navigate through the heart-breakingly surreal experience of losing a parent, and getting to see how all of our younger cousins had grown up and become people we could hold conversations with was pretty cool, too. I really wish I’d gotten more pictures of the family together, but I never really think of using my camera for moments of sentiment, so much as to capture dumb things I see and find funny. (Got one of those coming up, actually!) In the spirit of my the bawdy Ward sense of humor which is our trademark, I couldn’t help finding the apparently filthy sense of humor behind the maker of the restaurant’s menu and figuring this might have been part of the appeal that the place probably held with the Ward part of my brain. It was probably stuff like the “Dirty Sanchez” burrito that attracted Dad eat there so often.

The lunch came and went and the family parted ways, as Alex and I had to get back to Kentucky so he wouldn’t miss work. On the way  back though, Alex and I took a small detour through the town of Macon Georgia, where we were both born and only have a small selection of memories from. As the ride went on, Alex and I began speculating ideas for shit we thought would be funny to do with Dad’s ashes. Coming up with horrible ideas such as driving up beside our Mom in her Prius, opening the urn, scooping out a handful of Dad, and firing it across her windshield. It’s not that my mom and dad didn’t get along. They had made some form of peace over the last couple of years after my dad had decided to stop fucking up, but as I feel is probably likely with any divorced couple who stays in contact for one reason or another, the sometimes it can be fun to get on your ex’s nerves. After the divorce and my dad’s absence from our lives, they made peace when he came back, even becoming friendly with one another, albeit with slight undertones of friendly antagonism. Dad, much like myself, was a needler. If he could find a way to give the people he cared about shit and make it funny, he’d move a mountain to do it.

We also talked about mixing some of my dad’s remains into a batch of weed and bringing Willie Nelson’s prophecy to life. I recently took “my Dad” into an open mic night at a local comedy club, intending to put his urn in a chair on stage and perform a short roast, (which went comically horrible and will make up its own chapter in this story later on) and smuggled his ashes into the movie theater to see the new Jackass: Bad Grandpa movie in tribute to dad’s fascination with Johnny Knoxville and dudes getting paid to injure their testicles.

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So, we’ve come up with a few loose plans for funny things to do with Dad’s remains while we keep him around, some of which we’ve already enacted, others of which, we’re planning to space out across the remainder of the year. The point of these little exercises in morbidity are to spend some time giving the man a fun little ride that would be just fucked up enough to be something he would have appreciated. We’ve come up with a couple of ideas that we think would be pretty hilarious, but I don’t want to spoil them just yet. Overall, I’m thinking if I take enough pictures and document the experiences here, it might make for a pretty funny book. The ultimate plan in doing all of this will culminate in an extended cross-country road trip to discover our dad’s final resting place. I’m thankful for the growth of a relationship that happened between my dad and my brother in the last year of his life. Dad and I never quite got that chance, but the way that Alex tells it, he and dad had a conversation on one of his long, quiet trips across the country, driving trucks for J.B. Hunt, where he marveled over the phone about the massive, beautiful view of the ocean on a high shore in a place called Ilwaco, Washington. Dad had apparently at one point, mentioned in passing, the idea of being cremated and having his ashes scattered there. I don’t know if he was ever seriously thinking about this, and neither Alex, nor myself have ever been to Ilwaco, but the plan is to get in the car and begin the long drive across America to cause trouble and scatter our dad and give him the kind of deranged send off he’d have appreciated.

Stay tuned!

 

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Lessons Learned In Young Love

Nyckole Hannoonah would have turned 30 today.

A little journey back into my past love life which fans of my first book, Love Buzz might find somewhat familiar. In a time just after high school, when I had moved off to Atlanta, Georgia in the interest of furthering my education, I met Nycki and fell hard for her. We were young, broke college kids, just naive enough to think that the love we felt in that short period of time we’d known each other was some sort of sign that we were meant to spend the rest of our lives together.

Like most relationships of this nature are want to do when we’re young and “just figuring it out”, the life plans I’d made with Nycki never got around to taking off. I touched upon my relationship with Nycki in a short portion of Love Buzz, in which our protagonist, (and not so subtle “me” analog) Norm Raymer, in between one of his break up/make up cycles with Maggie Gunther, found himself in a romantic interlude with a young girl named Gwen Watson (Way lame Spider-Man reference!) that lasted for about two of the book’s sixteen chapters. Like the rest of the story of Norm and Maggie, the story of Norm and Gwen is equal parts fact and fiction. Where those differences lie though, is for you to wonder, dear reader. Whenever anyone asks me questions about the fact and the fiction behind Love Buzz, I prefer to lean to the age old writerly cop-out of “letting the work speak for itself”.

Suffice to say, to those who’ve read the book and seen how Norm’s relationship with Gwen ended, the relationship between Nycki and myself ended in very much the same manner. The story of Love Buzz being the story of Norm and Maggie though, meant that the story between Norm and Gwen, and by extension, myself and Nycki got sold short in the interest of concise storytelling. The story of Nycki and I didn’t actually end with our parting of ways. It actually became an opening to one of the darker chapters in my young adulthood. All of this was something I had been saving with intentions over the years since her passing to turn into a book of it’s own. As of now, I’ve kind of lost the motivation and the stomach to finish the project, but it sits on my hard drive in a series of files in a folder marked “The Grieving Process”. Perhaps one day, I’ll get the nerve back to tackle it but as time has passed and different projects have come up, I’ve not had the stomach to begin dredging up all of those old feelings.

I spent six months after crashing and burning my educational career in Atlanta and incurring student loan debt on an unfulfilled degree biting back on anger and resentment at Nycki that sat in the pit of my guts like a cancer.  Six months of cursing and brooding and listening to the most godawful depressing music I could find. The same period of time that our relationship lasted. Then I got an email that made things all worse. One night in 2003, a cousin of Nycki’s who I had briefly met in the time I spent with her had written to dump all of the following information on me in under three hundred words. 1) Nycki had gotten married to another guy. 2) she had since been in and out of the hospital due to the an amplified intensity in same headaches that she would frequently get when we were together, and 3) two months previous, according to the cousin, one of Nycki’s frequent headaches had somehow caused her brain to swell to the point that it pushed into her brain stem and killed her.

After a brief exchange of emails, i got her cousin’s phone number and we had a long talk over the phone over everything that had gone down for the sake of my own sense of clarity. The cousin went out of her way to track down my contact information because, as she said just before we hung up, she “thought I would want to know, because you were really good to her.”

I let those last words ring in my ears as I hung up the phone and began to process all of what had happened. This girl I intended on marrying had, in a short time since we broke up, married someone else and then died shortly thereafter. Furthermore, all that rage I had held onto over our relationship’s end had been something which, in my mind, was something I was holding in strategically, for whenever she might decide to try and contact me again, so that when I eventually plucked up the nerve to pick up the phone and tell her every inch of how I felt, it would be in such a righteous manner that it would solve all my problems from there on out.

Now I knew that phone call was never going to come and I had left every bit of that anger sit in waiting for nothing. With Nycki gone, I now had no place to direct those feelings other than inward. These unresolved feelings just retreated to a deeper part of me where I held onto them and for a while, became a truly reckless person who did some regrettable things that I’m not proud of.

But while there may be mysterious quantities of bullshit to sift through, I will say that the essence of Gwen was Nycki all over, from her style of dressing to her dirty mouth. The one thing I’ve always liked most in a woman has been a similarly horrible sense of humor to my own. Nycki had that in spades. That girl could make me laugh on some of my worst days living in Georgia.

I learned of Nycki’s passing six months after the fact, just around the same time that Love Buzz was starting to gel inside my head. Because of this, I decided that despite my inclination to not dictate to my artists how each character should look, beyond a couple of broad strokes, the character of Gwen should resemble Nycki’s own personal look as closely as possible. As mixed up as my feelings for her were, I wanted at least for this small section of the book to pay some kind of tribute to her.  This meant that several different incarnations were drawn of her as the book changed artists a couple of times, but each one nailed her likeness.

Her old Angelfire site still exists as something of a somber digital graveyard rittled with pop-up ads and , which I’ll go searching for about once a year just to see if it’s inevitably disappeared into the electronic void from never being touched or maintained. I’m sure it will probably happen one of these days.

Nycki taught me a lot about romance and relationships in our brief time together. I held onto the regret of never getting to say goodbye to her, or never getting to truly speak my mind against how things ultimately went down with us. The thing she taught me most of all was the importance of closure for the sake of your own sanity. Years and miles have passed since this time period and I’ve been out the other end of that dark period for quite some time. I’ve had other relationships come and go. The good ones and the bad ones, none of them ever really completely leaves us, and the majority of the time, we come out better for it and the little piece of them that we carry around with us as we move forward and they all leave us with their fair share of baggage to carry on after they end, whether we choose to deal with it quickly or carry it around for long after it’s done. When relationships end, be they through the gradual deterioration of a couple growing distant after years and years together or the naivety of two stupid kids running on an equal mix of hormones and impulse before burning out quickly, I can look back at many of the people I’ve known in the past whose behaviors and motivations are clearly guided by the thick callous that can grow over our emotional selves in effort to as a form of self-defense over falling into the same traps again. It would be easy for me to write out every angry thing I ever wanted to say to Nycki but didn’t get the chance to here and now, but I honestly I forgave all of that crap a long time ago.

So, for her birthday, I’ve chosen to reflect on the good parts of our brief experiences passing through one another’s lives. Instead of remembering her as the first girl who really squashed me flat, I’m choosing to remember the girl who was impulsive enough that she proposed to me with a cheap little fashion ring that couldn’t have cost more than a twenty bucks, and me, the guy who accepted without a second thought and promised to get her a real one the second my broke ass could afford it. It’s hard to believe it’s been 10 whole years.

Happy birthday, Nycki.