Had a dream about Hiram last night. We were in a foxhole digging out tubers with our buck knives. Roasting the root veggies on dry branches, drinking mead, watching tropical birds plummet from the sky in flames, framed by the clear night sky. We were discussing the woeful cinematic career arc of Arnold Swartzenegger.

Awake.

Fucking Hiram. He was, on any given day, neck and neck with me in the freak race. What a pair. We had an uneasy best friendship. Both of us fighting our identities. Both of us relishing our geekiness, while repelling from it. One day feeling like the only two guys who understood the other. The next wanting to distance ourselves from each other. I think we knew if we actually mind melded that the populace at large would undergo the worst doom to ever be seen by human eyes.

Highschool, and the Eighties in general were unkind to both of us. Professionals were asked to intervene. Seperately and at different times, but for basically the same reason. Is my son gonna be the next Ed Gein, Jackson Pollack, Harvey Pekar, or Reverend Sun Moon?

Which fate will our lunacy take.

I was often jealous of him. Couldn't say whether that was mirrored. Fuck he was talented. Incredible artist. Often better twisted sense of humor than me. Christ if his prowess expanded beyond what we both were good at I would have lost my gourd.

One thing to out paint and draw me. One thing to out clown me. But if he could have melodically sang, played an instrument like an extension of himself, or danced at all I would have cried myself to sleep at night. As it turned out we both seemed mostly unmusical.

As it was, we were both lauded for our artistic talents. He was the obviously better draughtsman and brush master. I was more capable at the keyboard and lined paper. He was a great athlete. I was an unassuming brain.

Hmmph. Maybe he was jealous of that. Not that it matters now. He was dogged by the staff at Lutheran High School North for his lack of attention in the classroom. See, I barely studied or did assignments with as less elan as he did. However, I maintained an effortless B average. Tests and writing just came naturally to me. Homework was for suckers as far as we were both concerned, but as far as grade point averages were concerned, I benefitted from the attitude, he did not.

We spent most of our weekends going to the movies, or renting stacks of tapes. Chillin at the art museum much too. We had a treacherous bond with artists.

Just remembered one delightful day. Standing in front of my locker, wondering when that funny smell will fade away. Damn tuna fish sandwich that went bluish green. Hiram frantically runs up to me and roughly grabs my arm. I had to struggle to get the locker door locked before he drags me away.

Under a stairwell he tells me he had an epiphany. He knows how he can get Jamie to fall in love with him.

Jamie was the daughter of one of the teachers at the school. She looked quite a bit like Liv Tyler. Not that the actress was much more than a toddler to compare to at the time. But you smell the stink. Her parents basically would not have approved of the interracial coupling. Fucking Midwest. So she apologetically would spurn his numerous advances.

He went stalker nuts. I think partially cause he couldn't swallow the spiked ignorance pill her folks dished out. He never felt at ease with people of his own skin shade. Artistic geeks are even more ostracised in the Black community. Not very street to paint pictures without using an aerosol can on a brick wall. So he persued her with passion.

Discovered the combination to her locker. Would leave gifts and notes in there. She freaked. The administration got involved. He would not relent.

He was convinced she had feelings for him but was held back by her tyrannical father. Starcrossed lovers. So he concocted a scheme. If I was to don a ski mask, and attack her in the school parking lot after she got out of volleyball practice, he could swoop in and be the dapper rescuer. She would have to, at least out of greatfulness, succumb to his woo.

We both watched way too many movies.

I immediately broke into a laughing fit. Was choking on my own guffaws. Wrapped his hand around my mouth and told me he was serious. I told him he was fucking trippin and illin. No thanks. As if I'd want to bring that kind of heat on me. Never would work anyway.

He was dizzy with anger. He was more than convinced it would succeed and accused me of all manner of anti buddy motives. He accused me of having the hots for her. Granted I would have definitely rode up in that if she gave the slightest hint that she wanted it. But, she had even less desires for me. He wouldn't leave it alone till I shouted at him, told him he was outhouse rat crazy, and that her pops was never gonna let his princess date a Black guy.

Friendship was never the same after that.

Saw some of him after highschool ended. He began studying video at Webster college in St.Louis. We both worked at the Rigatoni Hut for a short period of time. We latched onto different people for social lives. Drifted apart quickly in the fork in the stream.

Hope Hiram is alright. I mean, I imagine he is as "alright" as I am today. Accepting nay adoring my freak geek maniac stroll. Peace out homie wherever you at.

Oh, someone asked a question on how the whole "9/11" thing is doing in NYC. Kind of hard to worry about war and terrorism when you don't know where your next loaf of bread is coming from. New taxes, increasing fares, more lay offs, closing facilities. It's starting to look bleak. Still, in regards to any Twin Towers hype. We'd all like the rest of you to step down off your grandstand and shut the fuck up. Let us heal in our own way and pace. New Yorkers are well educated in the value of minutes, let us travel our minutes as we see fit.