I’m still working on the updates from this past weekend. In the meantime, here’s a photo of John and me from back in high school.
Johnny and I were inseparable… we were the chill that was in the air… We stole some of those blinking construction lights and ran from cops. We took a pack of gum that was sitting in the middle of downtown Houston, outside of the Alley theatre. We called it HC gum. We spent countless hours on Johnny’s porch – talking about everything. We played guitar. We snuck out on weeknights to do nothing other than drive around in the Aerostar, drink Dr. Pepper and talk to Jimmy on the cell phone. Johnny and I talked about life. We started rebuilding a guitar. We made each other laugh when a girlfriend broke up with one of us – we made each other laugh about everything else as well. We kept each other out of trouble. We got each other into trouble. John helped me in trigonometry. I told John to grow his hair out and un-tuck his shirt.
Johnny borrowed my Dad’s truck and it was broken into. I walked into John’s house one day when his Mom had just gotten out of the shower and was buck nekked. John jumped on my back for a piggy back ride after exiting a haunted house in late October. We fell face first into a chain link fence. John and I drank too much one night – he drove us into a ditch. I got whiplash. I was pissed. I drove us home and John rubbed my neck and didn’t say a word. John and I motorsurfed. John and I played air-guitar in the car.
Johnny left me in the summer before our junior year in high school. He was the smart one – he went to college at the age of 16. He wrote me though. I wrote him back. I went to visit him in Denton. We saw Faith No More, Guns ‘n’ Roses and Metallica in Dallas. Johnny had a roommate named Ogre.
John was kicked out of T.A.M.S. He wrote me. He was upset with himself. I didn’t have much to offer other than emotional support. Johnny busted his ass and got into A&M. He joined the Corp. He shaved his head. He wrote me. I wrote him. I’ve endured tribulations – So has has Johnny. He wrote me, I wrote him.
John married Christine. I married El. Now we’re both old married farts. I can’t wait to see what kind of hell we can raise now…