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  • Writer's pictureSandra Lee


johnny visited me the other night. he'd been dead around 2 years-tried to get the exact date, asked my friend to ask his widow what it was for sure, no reply. heard she was already married again. she seems like a freak from what i've heard.

met johnny in the year 2000 on the pacific coast highway as i passed his ass and gave him a dirty look. he ended up working in the office above me and that's how it started. i saw him behind our salon loping towards the wine bar, he flashed a smile, his longish hair flying. i realized it was the guy I just passed on the freeway.

i left a note on his car, he left a bigger note on mine, pure poetry, must have known i am a complete sucker for the written word. don't tell me you love me, write it.

i called him tall and lanky, because he was, but had something wrong with one leg so that he walked in a kind of loping way, but full of energy. i was just getting divorced and excommunicated and was on a mission of self exploration and was i having fun, oh yeah, too much fun. i had just been given a get out of jail free card.

johnny was a drinker-i did not really know that, as i was not. his mother shot herself in the head when he was 8, and my mother left me when i was 8. you could say we had some things in common, yes, most profoundly, and were each wrestling with our satan's and santa's.

he was my biggest support during this my most tumultuous time, and i saw that he was proud of being capable of hearing the most gruesome details of my life and understanding every word without an ounce of pity.

sex with johnny was like it was with everybody, since, at the time, i was having sex with every body. it was good and bad, but mostly fun. mainly i gave him blow jobs every day, running up those back stairs whenever i had a break, he kept toothpaste in his bathroom, and we'd make out madly.

we became good friends. we never fell in love, but i have never laughed so hard in my life when we both visited the cemetery, being obsessed and fascinated with death as we were, when we found a small tree sticking out of the ground right where a man's crotch was laid to rest. oh god, we laughed for 10 minutes. well, i guess you had to be there.

he was doing so well for a coupla years, AA was his church, but then started going downhill. i would visit him every once in a while, but he was different, secretive, he was drinking again. after his 5th DUI, (is it really possible to drive a car with a blood alcohol of 4.6? apparently so...) he was taken away, spanked, cleaned up, shipped out, cured, got out of rehab and promptly married an older woman with the same problem. we lost touch for a year. he was 43.

i sent him an email, and the last thing he replied to me, was ‘hey’.

i got the news from his roommate richard, that he died alone in a seedy LA motel room, after going on a coupla benders.

he came to me the other night, while i was sleeping, to let me know what he was up to now. he was shining and full of life, big, strong, robust, and he was wearing the most brilliant blazing white shirt i have ever seen. my heart bursting with joy i leaped up and gave him a hug, and man oh man was it good to see him.

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