Boo The Bootch: E. Don't Go.

"Own your feelings. No matter what they are."

I remember E. said this to me when I was going through a hard time. Right now I'm playing those words over and over again, in that scratchy blunt loving voice, with a tone that is part Tagalog and part Natoma hood.

He was as enigmatic as the artists he admired, Prince, Tom Yorke, and Johnny Cash. Yet he was the "hug able thug." That dude that you wanted as your ally and your friend. You felt golden in his good graces. Although E. was headstrong about a lot of things, he was a true "Frisco" kid who loved existential conversations and new ideas.

He gave the best hugs. A hug from E. was like being hugged by a thugged out Yogi Bear. It sounds awesome right? It was clenched to the point of suffocating, but so warm and sincere, you just didn't care. If you ever got a hug from E., count yourself blessed.

His work with San Francisco's youth was his true calling. Whenever I had a bad day working at my continuation school, it was always a blessing to see E. because he truly understood both my love and frustration. I know E. had wanted kids of his own. In the meantime, he gave so much love to so many youth who were in the midst of their own pain.

He and I met at Bindlestiff Studio. I remember the night we exchanged numbers. This horrible dork was trying to hooride on my number so I verbally gave E. the wrong one. E. knew exactly what I was doing, and like all other cool dudes you don't really need to explain your game to them. We were instant friends.

I would pick him him up in the Excelsior in my barely breathing Acura Integra, driving us to lunch in the Sunset district, going to Stonestown mall, and picking up Vanilla Lattes from the uppity side of Filmore. We chattered for hours like two damn kids, smoking packs of cigarettes, exchanging music, and looking forward to the next time we were gonna kick it. I truly enjoyed his love for me. I felt like the coolest kid in school was my best friend.

For years I've tried to figure out the nature of our bond. Perhaps it was because I was young and misanthropic, and E. was misanthropic and young at heart. He never filtered his thoughts no matter how appalling they were. But I can be an evil bitch, and most time his musings were so fucking hilarious, I just enjoyed the endless hours of laughing with him.

At 7:30 on Wednesday morning I woke up with sickness in my stomach. As I started to feel the symptoms of food poisoning, I received a text message from a number I didn't recognize. It said that "E. had passed away." I don't respond kindly to jokes like that, so I called the number and it was one of his closest friends. The news was true.

I woke up my roommate (Who was superbly close to E. as well) and I barely got the words out of my mouth that our friend was dead.

Years ago E. and I had a falling out that I never thought we would recover from. Our fight was so paralyzing, that I was certain that we were as good as dead to each other. I call these years the dark years, because we spent almost two years not saying a word to each other, and pretending that the other was invisible.

The dark years were renamed the growing years, the day that E. reached out to me in Facebook so that we could make up. I never told anyone this, but I cried like a baby. Although I had spent those years acting like prideful bitch that didn't care, my heart was relieved to have my friend again

And now he's gone.

I keep asking myself if I regret not having our relationship back to the way it was. After we made up I was guarded and reluctant to have him by my side again. I knew he wanted to talk about our fight, but I avoided every opportunity to bring it up. I just couldn't go back to that place, because it was too painful.

Now I wish we could have that conversation a thousand times. He could have beaten it to death if he wanted to. I would rather talk about that fight over and over again, instead of living the rest of my life wondering why I never took the opportunity to listen to his side of the story.

What was I scared to hear about myself? What could he have possibly said that would have opened that wound again? I didn't give E. the opportunity to look at our relationship in an honest way, but I figured E. had a thousand friends and that we were meant to grow apart.

Side note: This fool literally has a THOUSAND friends. Just look his Facebook page with all of the people that now have his image as their profile picture.

Oh my friend. I'm going to miss you. I love you so much. I clench my heart at the thought of going to the theater without seeing you there. I never thought I would have to write a blog post like this. You've followed my writing for years, and were so fucking supportive.

Your last words to me were to follow my dreams and I promise I will. I almost don't want to end this post, because it means that I have to say good bye for real. Let me try. Thank you for saving our friendship Eric. I'll see you on the other side when it's my time.

Good bye. E. I fookin love you dood.