Often when I think of Ed, I think of the Skid Row song "18 and a Life." He was fucked. I blame his parents, who are probably both deceased, now. Not to speak ill of them, but they didn't really care about Eddie, and he suffered because of it. He was a smart and somewhat athletic kid. He could have really been a great adult. Unfortunately, I know he turned out otherwise.
I was still friends with Ambo until high school. One day, he and I were going into this skate shop about 3 miles from where the fire had happened all those years ago. Before we entered the shop, we noticed a kook with a bright orange tie dye shirt on across the street waving insanely to us. It was a 16 year old Eddie. He crossed and said some loopy shit right off the bat. Something about Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix. When we asked him about his life and stuff, he told us how he sold all his video games and sports memorabilia (he had a Bo Jackson rookie card and baseballs signed by both him and Michael Jordan) for weed. After spouting off a bunch more cryptic hippy shit he began to wander off. We both shook his hand and bid him well.
After High School, lots of my friends went to art school. There were all kinds of parties at the party houses that surrounded the school. Ed had apparently lived in one of these houses for a while. I never saw him there. I heard about him 3rd hand, as he was now known by a new name: "Crackhead Ed." It appears that he'd gone completely mental, and had to be kicked out of the house. Even though I laughed when I was told, I later thought about how sad it was that such an intelligent dude could fall so far.
I saw him riding the bus a few different times after that. The first time, he was sitting inside, at the window. He'd gained some weight, but it was definitely him. I never forget a face. I waved but he didn't look up. I figured he was half-asleep, or couldn't see me. The next 2 times I saw him he was on foot at the bus depot downtown. I stood in his path and made direct eye contact with him. He looked directly at my face. I smiled, but I didn't say anything. He gave me this look like "yeah? what?" and just kept walking. A far cry from the tie dyed kook I'd seen outside the skate shop 4 years earlier. The 3rd time I saw him I called his name out and he didn't even seem to hear it. He just had that same blank stare from before. Puzzled and sallow, his posture was that of a much older man.
I spoke to Ambo again in 2009. He told me he'd had the same experience I did in running into ol' Eddie. Ambo is a way more recognizable dude than I am, but he still got the same blank look. Like Ed was in another world watching something far away. Maybe he was. Maybe he's still there. The guy was a kook, to be sure. But it's knowing and being around kooks like him that give you crazy stories to tell, and disturbing memories that'll last a lifetime.
-2013 Wielgorecki
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