Conversations with Keefy

I barely ever sleep, but often I dream of my funeral. The day I am laid to rest. Goodbyes said in silence. Empty prayers to an empty sky. Curses under swallowed breaths. A bronze urn to hold the remnants of my person. Who will weep for me and who will piss on me? True loves, true friends and the truly fake. All gathered together sharing a begrudged moment. Regrets, lies, blinding truths and the inescapable finality. Knowing that time is up and things don't get resolved nicely. The dark danse macabre of the moment beguiles the sufferer. The pretentious and the false will offer the aggrieved to “be there for them if they are needed”. Even though few were there for me when I needed them in life. Meanwhile a few selfless pilgrims will do what must be done. Some will sob, others will make inappropriate jokes. Others still will reminisce over me in uneasy low tones. Few will come to understand the measure of this man. Frenemies I never showed a glimpse of solace to ...

Every year on March 8th marks the birthday of my friend Rora Lynn Darden. I use the day to celebrate her and keep her memory alive. She died in September of 1997 and I think of her often. She was one of my best friends in junior high school and then she vanished out of my life like a ghost. She would haunt me off and on via phone calls for ten years, always reaching out when she needed a friend. I wished I could have done something to help change the course of her life, but I was powerless. Although the circumstances of her death are murky, the story of how she lived especially when we were close comforts me and carries me. The story of our friendship is detailed below in an updated version of a post from my old Myspace (!) blog from four years ago about her.  *************************************************************** I was 13 when I met her for the first time. Toward the end of my second semester at Frank D. Whalen Junior High 135 in The Bronx. I was getting my ass ki...