![]() said "to prepare her for the inevitable". his mother answered, and as i told her the story, she turned to ask her husband why he told me michael was dead. i left work in a daze and went back to his house. she told me she had just called the hospital and he was still in a coma. a few hours later i called my stepmum from work to tell her. penetti patted my back, "comforting" me with "it’s for the best". his brutal stepfather, who hated him because he was queer, told me he had died. he remained in a coma.Ģ days later, instead of calling, i stopped by his house to ask about him. we were hallucinating madly, but the fear and adrenaline was cutting into it sharply, clearing my head all too lucidly. I told my parents, grabbed my friend and a car, and raced to the hospital. It seemed like only minutes after he left that i got a phone call from a neighbor: "you’re friends with michael lowe, right? they just found him unconscious on the side of the road next to route 8. as was usual for us, he was going to hitch a ride, down route 8. one sunday night i was tripping on acid with another friend, at home, and michael came by to borrow a shirt to go clubbing in town. Around 30 years ago, my best friend michael and i lived on the same street, in our parents’ homes.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |