The last thing I should be doing is writing while inebriated... I mean, considering I actually took doing anything other than what I wanted into account. Then again, who am I to judge myself?
I WAS uploading photos, but sometimes I get just as tired of looking at other people as I do of looking at myself. The point being, I really miss my friend Kenny.
See? You're already wondering what any of this has to do with any of that. But he wouldn't. He would know that drunken sincerity was sincerity nonetheless, and judge me openly and affectionately. Anyway, as the fuckers are saying nowadays: Let's get into it.
I met Kenny while managing/serving/bartending at a well known establishment in Delray Beach, FL... circa, I don't know, 2015? Yeah, 2015 sounds good. He was the sound guy at Old School Square, the venue around the corner. I was the one responsible for harassing him and his crew during their lunch breaks... sometimes, I even fed them. Like clockwork, generic banter ensued, until March of 2016. Some kind of 90's fest was happening, complete with Candlebox, Sister Hazel, and Everclear. Suddenly everything was wonderful again. Suddenly I gave a shit what they did, other than take up my 8 top... but it didn't matter. "See ya there, kid." Fuck me, for charging for that side of ranch.
In typical degenerate fashion, I made it to the show without a ticket, holding on to a friend's promise of "knowing people." I'm surprised I lasted an entire 10 minutes before gripping the fence after spotting Kenny and yelling, "YOOO, I'm supposed to be here but I don't know how to get there!"
The idiot put me on the guest list, and I was in. Anyone in their right mind would've done anything but push their luck, right?
Well, not me. I told security that the line for the public restrooms was too long, and demanded that they let me backstage, because 'would you look at this shit?!'
When they told me no, I put up enough of a fight for security to call security, which was, you guessed it.. Kenny. Instead of owning up to his mistake of granting me access in the first place, he nonchalantly said, "I'll take her." Somehow, his willingness subdued me into actually just taking a piss and finding my place in the crowd.
Until the music started, of course. Then, I was "too far away."" It wasn't loud enough."" I was surrounded by ingrates.""I didn't pay for this shit"... literally. I counted the seconds between lighting and decided to jump the gate.
Once I made my way to the VIP section, I ran into some regulars from the bar who welcomed me with open arms. Shit... I'd actually pulled it off! I was still evaluating my own couth when the headliner began and I saw Kenny behind the sound booth, looking directly at me. It had been a good run, I thought. The adrenaline alone was worth it.
But I got nothing but a wink... a smirk even. Had we just become best friends?
Yes. Long story short, we became inseparable after that night. My attempts at apology were met with a "Shut up, it's exactly where I would've been, and why I love you." And man, did he. Even with almost ten years on me, he was the younger brother I never had. But more than that, he understood what music meant to me. He understood how it had saved me, without an explanation, even though I hadn't been saved at all. He understood the stories I tried so hard to tell through a lens, offering countless photography classes and mentors that I just wasn't ready to accept.
Kenny did all of this while fighting his own demons - five years off of heroin, with no intention of going back -so he said. But he went back, and I didn't know it. In the midst of it all, I had gotten married and he had gotten into a serious relationship... and although they were both positives in our lives then, we know what happiness can do to communication.
I got the call in May of 2017. He had relapsed, it was laced, he was gone. I wanted to be wherever he was.
The memorial was surreal. I cried more than I thought possible, and the same sentiments echoed through my head for the duration, "You stupid motherfucker, you had no idea how loved you were."
I think he knows, now, and I hope you do too. If it wasn't for Kenny I'm not sure I'd be here, at least figuratively. He couldn't help me any more than I could help him in those days... but while mine are still numbered, I can try my best to make him proud. Sorry it took so long, and stop laughing... just kidding. "Fuck you, it's for you."
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