I was reading Sno Ho by Ethan Day and had to stop. It's a cheery, fun, fluffy bit of a book, but the voice of the narrator made gave me the teary snuffles. He sounded exactly like my friend JD, but ExActLEEEy. The over-wrought, exaggerated responses, followed by embarrassment and then the attempt at dignity-- pure JD. Even some of the phrasing seemed to echo him. And especially the funny. Oh man, the funny. With a waggle of the eyebrows or a delicate flair of the nostrils, JD could make you crack up at anything, especially art history lectures, which really isn't good for the morale of the class.
I guess it's good to be reminded of dead friends. Except here's the thing...I didn't see JD the last year of his life--he moved home to some midwestern state after he got diagnosed with AIDS. I wrote (this was pre-internet. Or maybe not, but JD was a Luddite so he wouldn't have a computer) but I didn't call more than a couple of times. I was young, I didn't know what to say. He seemed to lose interest in talking to old friends and I didn't push. Yadayadayada.
Fine. I get it now, all right? Thanks for pointing out I'm a jerk. When I think of JD my main emotion is guilt.
Except now I'm thinking some more. Maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better, but I imagine JD would file my guilt under "major horse-shit." IN other words, it would not go over well with the Jade-man. I think he'd just roll his eyes and tell me to get over myself. Read the fucking book already. Hey. Remember the time we both laughed so hard and long I drooled? The time the teacher asked us to leave?
Back to the Kindle. Ethan Day, if you ever go to a conference and some middle aged woman (or yet ANOTHER middle aged woman) comes up to you and gives you a huge, unasked for hug, it might be me. Thanks for giving me back JD.