reader submission- his friend committed suicide:
a boy who reads my blog wrote this:
“my friend texted me to tell me that miss Ashley had killed herself last night. she never seemed like the type to do it. i was shocked, saddened, and honestly felt bad. we met at the royal oaks one night when i was already drunk. she tended bar there and her shift just ended, so she decided to stick around for a drink. she told me we had met before at the nyabinghi and made out in the bathroom and how great it was. great that i was bold enough to just ask her if she wanted to and great that i delivered on it. i must have been too drunk to remember that. i went along with it. i said of course i remember then excused myself to the bathroom and asked Matt who she was. “Ashley. from nyabinghi. miss Ashley” when i came back she said how great that would be to happen again. just not giving a drunk fuck, i grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into me in the middle of the bar. she was flushed.
we sat down and talked about what we had just done and then went to my car. we made out for almost 45 minutes and the bar had closed and matt was tapping on my window. she pulled her skirt back down, put her jacket on, and got out. we exchanged numbers, kissed, got in our cars and left. the next few winter months were spent at her house. it was so cold outside and in my house, but her house was always so nice. we’d go out and take turns buying each other dinner, showing each other our secret spots; i took her to golden hunan for black pepper beef, she took me to amen corner for Friday fish, etc… we sat under blankets and watched Rosanne, while i did my homework. it was so cold outside and in my house, but her house was always so nice. we fucked while listening to old hardcore records and sometimes i’d put on sonic youth. i always said i knew the band and loved them, even when i didn’t know who they were. we drank beers and talked about underground hip hop. what did happen to def jux and the next men?
before working at the royal oaks, she was a dancer at one of those classy strip clubs. that’s all anyone knew about her and i could feel it when we went out. i didn’t hold her hand at cedars. she was hurt and asked why and i couldn’t tell her “because you’re a stripper”. she got fired from the oaks and had to start dancing again. i stopped seeing her and the whole thing faded away. i didn’t want to be known as dating a stripper. I’m such a shallow asshole. i wasn’t in love, but it’s not like i didn’t have feelings.
even a few months later, when i felt so low, she came and sat in the dark and listened to nirvana with me to comfort me. we both sang along to drain you. even after i started dating another girl, i dreaded running into her because the sex was so good. it’s almost a year from when i started seeing her and i don’t feel good about any of it still. she had another boy after me, sure, i had girls. i know it’s no ones fault. i can associate with hopelessness. everyone can. i can’t associate with suicide. i hope no one can. I’m sorry.”
