I don’t know why I said it. His face was sweet and childlike, minus all the neck tattoos. He looked like trouble. I usually like to be the troublemaker so I was hesitant to meet him, but we seemed to have a lot in common. He’s a tattoo artist and I went to art school. We were both getting sober. Him, for heroin and me, for alcohol and uppers.
We chatted about film photography so I suggested we meet at Echo Park Lake and take photos of each other. He picked me up in a grey Nissan Cube, and I joked that I also drove a toaster — a silver Kia Soul. We scoured the park for a good place to take his portrait, maybe under one of the street lamps. I admired how tall he was next to me, and instructed him to stand under this awning by the swan boats. He asked for guidance, and I have this comedic bit where I become a pretentious photographer. “The CINEMATOGRAPHY! I just SEE things differently! The shadows are BLUE, not black!” He laughed and said “One of my moms said she knew I would be an artist because I said the shadows are blue when I was little.” In response to my puzzled look, he explained that he has two moms and showed me two banner tattoos on either side of his chest that both said, “Mom.”
“That’s fucking awesome,” I said.
I told him I’d never rode the swan boats and we decided to go for it. We hobbled onto the unstable boat bobbing at the dock, and peddled together, him steering us toward the giant fountain in the middle of the lake which was aggressively spewing water. The spray was strong and I playfully fought to steer the boat away so we wouldn’t get soaked. I snapped a blurry photo on my camera. I thought about how this would be a really cute memory if we ended up dating. He’s easy to be around.
That night, he explained that we couldn’t go to his apartment because his ex girlfriend-slash-roommate still lives there and took over the living room. They broke up a while ago but were still friends. So we go to my apartment and I put on The Babysitter, which felt like a good conversation starter movie because of how ridiculous it is. Out of my big living room window, we notice my neighbor is doing a nude photoshoot. Not even ten feet away from us. An awkward sight to see on a first date, so we laugh it off. On my TV, Bella Thorne is participating in a satanic sacrifice and we kiss for the first time. He spent the night.
The next time I see him, he suggests I come to his 12 Step meeting in Hollywood at 10pm. I know late night meetings can be unruly, which means a lot of not-so-sober people but I wanted to see him so I checked it out. In the lull of the meeting, we played a phone game where you have to make as many words from a set of letters as possible. He silently angled his phone towards me, asking for help. I whispered “SHIED” and it worked. Afterwards, he told me his ex-girlfriend-slash-roommate was in the process of moving out, but I could come over. He rode his motorcycle and I met him in my car.
The apartment was full of half packed boxes, dirty dishes in the sink. Rockstar Energy cans littered on the floor, makeup spread all over the dining room table where a DIY boudoir was set up. He assured me it was all his ex-girlfriend-slash-roommate’s and he would redecorate when she left. We sat on the couch and traded war stories about our drug use. He never really liked alcohol, but he liked painkillers and that eventually lead him to heroin. I asked him what heroin felt like and he showed me a video that summarized it. I realized he had never heard my music, so I played an unreleased song for him. “This one is about spiraling out, but being okay with it.” He wasn’t one to be overly complimentary, but finally he said, “I’m glad I don’t have to pretend to like your music because you’re actually good at what you do.” I smiled.
We were in different 12 Step Programs and I wanted to take him to one of my favorite meetings, so I suggested one on Thursday. It’s a big meeting, nearly 100 people and there are a lot of young people with tattoos. He asked for a ride, and I made sure it was okay that we were early because my job is to greet people at the door. Next to the entrance, he jumped up on the ledge and sat next to me with his feet dangling over the side. I sang “WELLLCOOOME” in funny voices, switching it up every time someone walked in. I introduced him to my friends. He told me he really liked it and would definitely come back. Since I was giving him a ride home, I came over and he made dinner. His ex-girlfriend-slash-roommate was gone, and the place was a little cleaner. He cooked asparagus and tilapia with creole seasoning. I laid on his couch, starting the new season of Bojack Horseman about when Bojack goes to rehab. He had already seen it but would watch it again with me. We were so open about our recovery and it felt nice.
I couldn’t give him a ride the following week but he showed up on his motorcycle. I saved him a seat next to me. Before the meeting started, he said he couldn’t wait to get his 6 month chip. “How many days do you have?” I asked and we both pulled out our apps that track our sobriety. Him, June 21st. Me, June 21st. We have the same sobriety date. We laughed in disbelief. I said, “You better stay sober so we can celebrate our one year together.” During the meeting, I couldn’t stop thinking about how weird that was. I felt closer to him. It almost made sense that we’d share something so significant.
After the meeting, I asked if he wanted to make dinner again and we went to the grocery store. He still had tilapia and asparagus at home so I got dark chocolate and fruit for dessert. The inside of his apartment had been transformed. He had a rack of clothes that he was screen-printing in the living room, next to an easel of a painting he was working on. I complimented him on how nice it looked and he said his mom came up from San Diego to help. He sautéed mushrooms while I played him the song I had written the day before and he bobbed his head. We ate while continuing to watch Bojack. In the morning, I kissed him goodbye, telling him I’d see him after my show in New York over the weekend.
I landed back in Los Angeles late Monday night and immediately began a hectic week of recording sessions. On Thursday, I asked if he was still coming to the meeting. He didn’t show up. The next day, I was re-recording vocals for the song I had last played him. Near the end of the recording session, I thought about him and texted him to ask if he was okay. A few minutes later, he called me. A girl was on the phone, his ex-girlfriend-slash-roommate. She asked me how I knew him and proceeded to tell me he was in a motorcycle accident late Monday night and wouldn’t last through the weekend. She said I could come visit him in the hospital. My legs were numb. I stumbled out of the studio. Where? Cedars-Sinai. South Tower. Vision flickered. Nausea. I asked a friend for a ride to the hospital and wandered into the street. I clutched my chest and sobbed, repeating the word, “No,” to myself over and over again.
My friend picked me up and a huge fire was blocking the intersection we needed to cross, so we re-routed. Hell. Parked. Wrong building. Down the elevator. Up again. Visitor passes. Through the doors.
A crowd stood outside the room. I recognized them as his friends from the tattoo shop. His moms. We hugged. A curtain blocked my view of angel boi. His coworker explained that he survived the crash, but broke so many bones it released fatty cells into his bloodstream. A fatty embolism spread into his brain when they were inserting a metal rod in his right femur. I glanced at my friend, because he knew I also have a metal rod in my right femur. Coincidence. The brain scan showed that he’d have no basic motor functions even if he woke up. We shared stories and I told his Moms that we have the same sobriety date.
They let me into the room to speak to him alone.
“Hi sam. Hi sam. Hi sam. Hi sam.” Catch my breath.
“I’ll miss you. I wish we could celebrate our one year sober together.
There are so many people here that care about you. I love you.” Tears.
I barely slept.
Today was five months sober.
I woke up sobbing at 3am. I knew there was a 7am meeting that gave monthly chips, so I went and shared my story. They gave me two chips, one for him and one for me. I went back to the hospital and gave his mom his five month chip and we embraced. His eyes were closed. I placed my hand on the hospital bed and said goodbye.
Goodbye angel boi.
He passed peacefully at 3:35pm on Tuesday, November 26th, 2019;
He’s an organ donor and his parents hope to hear his heartbeat again one day.
