A Beginning

Memories. I have 12 years of them packed away in my mind. Patrick and I met on a cold winter night in the final months of 1993. From the first moment, we began a truly unique journey that took us to the highs of inspiration and the lows of despair. We each comforted the other at our hour of need. We would talk for hours, sometimes never actually saying a word out loud. We both discovered the joy of expression via a pen - and spent summer days on my roof overlooking the city, writing out our thoughts long hand in books that we had bought each other - only to stand and read aloud once we reached closure. Slam poetry was never so much fun!

We had an incredible experience in 1998 when we sat in the front row at Tin Angel to watch poet Jim Carroll perform for two non-stop hours, cigarette after cigarette. He had no ashtry so he would hand his almost finished butt to PK, who would put it out and then put it away in his own cigarette box - leaving with 12 stubs smoked by the man that inspired us both. When he left for Alaska, he gave me 6 of those stubs and took the other 6 with him. What was someone's garbage was our bond.

When PK was my roommate, our relationship intensified - we learned how each of us ticked and that also helped us undersand ourselves better. When he moved away, we were not sad - since we understood what we had developed.

Once I scored a deep discount long distance plan, we would call each other and talk for hours at a time. He would take me hiking via his cell. I would take him to breakfast at the diner round the corner via my cell (back when I still had one, that is).

Over time, I will share some thoughts and memories that I have of Patrick but the bottom line: Patrick wasn't my brother, wasn't my friend, wasn't my oracle, wasn't my soulmate . . .

Patrick was me. And I am Patrick.

We were, and continue to be, two peas in a pod. He might have moved on from this earthy plain, but he has not left my heart or soul - nor will he ever.

- RD