I started hanging out with a different group of kids, some of whom were still in high school, and eventually I met this really bright kid who was living with some sort of distant relative because both of his parents were gone somehow, probably dead in an accident or something vague. All he had left of his parents was a $50,000 trust fund that was to be his the day he turned 18.
And he was one of the cleverest kids I had ever met, a real divergent thinker, very funny and intellectual, and a hell of a guitar player. He graduated from high school, turned 18, received his money and moved to the university district in what seemed like a span of weeks. So, since he was living closer by, I'd occasionally drive over to the three-person basement apartment in which he was staying and talk to him about life, girls, why he should put his money in a CD, which college courses to take, etc. Predictably, though, the basement became known for cheap beer and debauchery. That went on for a few months.
He told me once: I'm tired of this, I feel like I'm stagnating, I've gained all this weight from the partying, this isn't how I want things to be. So I'm going to get my act together, enroll for next quarter, and get fit. And I've been researching CD's and I think I'm going to put my money away. What a relief that was! And then the next week, a distraught phone call at 7:30, from somebody with whom I don't usually speak:
Conor, did I wake you up? I'm so sorry... Andrew Holman is dead.
Wow.
Apparently he had started on a weight-loss supplement a few days prior and began a vigorous workout routine and then, maybe because he was sore, maybe for recreational purposes, took some muscle relaxants. Within a few hours he had died of cardiac arrest, at the age of eighteen. His roommates found him lying in his bed, no sign of violence.
For many of my friends, this was their first experience with death, and it was hard, because we're young, and prior to this, death was something that hadn't even yet happened to the majority of our family pets.
I took this picture one night just before he announced that he was planning to turn his life around. In the picture he's just taken a drag, paused, suspended on film directly before his exhale. He's smoking an American Spirit, the smell of which still reminds me of the basement and the story of how fragile humans really are. RIP Andrew.