This is Eric. He's dead. —part 2 (read part 1)You're...
This is Eric. He's dead. —part 2 (read part 1)
You're probably wondering how I met a guy like Eric. I mean, there aren't too many guys like him in the whole universe, especially ones still roaming free, completely unincarcerated. Obviously since you're reading this, I must feel compelled to write about him. Or vice versa. Millions of people have been written about, most of them fake, a few real, but in my opinion nary a word should have been said about the vast majority of them. Eric is an exception, though. Big time.
Eric is just one of those friends you've always had, ever since you can remember. I met him in 5th or 6th grade, way back in the mists of time, long, long ago. Back then he was all about killing things, neighborhood cats especially, but pretty much whatever he could get his hands on. I'd follow along, disgusted and fascinated, unable to look away. In high school we drifted apart. He became a loner and in the manner of loners, always by himself. We'd talk at school sometimes, but never really hung out anymore.
After high school, he went off to college and I became an alcoholic. I busied myself with working dead-end jobs, getting DUIs, and kicking around the same shit town I'd always kicked around in. I didn't see Eric for years and years, had no idea what he majored in, didn't know if he got one of those careers like the people on tv have, nothing. For all I knew he was a fucking congressman or something.
Then one day he just showed back up. I was living in a camper at the time and there came a knock on the tinfoil door. It's been downhill ever since.
We became roommates for a while, but that didn't last long. Eric needed his own house, you see. He needed privacy, a place with, as he said, "a basement with thick cinder block walls and a good locking door." A place where he could practice death in peace.
That was five years ago and I'm still a drunk and Eric is still a weirdo. Also, I suspect, a registered sex offender.
Anyhoo, this marriage is going to take place next month, on the full moon, under what he hopes are cloudless skies, in Rose Hill Cemetery, and, no, I'm not looking forward to it. Sure, I'm happy for him and his future missus. The universe is a cold dark place, full of meaninglessness and absurdity. If you can a find a person to love, hang onto them like grim death. But I don't even know how to marry anyone. Sure, I've seen it done on tv. I know you start with DEARLY BELOVED and end with YOU MAY NOW KISS THE BRIDE, but what goes on in the middle? Remember, this is Eric we're talking about. He's about as far from conventional as you can get and still be in the same dimension.
And where the hell do you find a somber robe?
