At first I thought it was the fact that he was a FL transplant in brooklyn that really affected me. I read about his death and daydreamed about an alternate reality where i maybe met him somewhere dark and drunk in the city, and we bonded over mutual orlando friends and adventures. Premature death to a potential friendship always unnerves me. He's gone, and he won't ever know that we've done illegal things with the same people, or that he was the DJ at bbq the very last time I went out downtown and actually danced. Liz and I both left our debit cards at the bar that night. I couldve told him that and laughed and thanked him and said something flirty like "well im glad im getting to meet you now, hopefully ill remember you a little more the 3rd time I introduce myself." I gave to the funerary account, I googled the accident. I read the tributes on facebook and lurked the instagrams. Virtual curiosity mixed with detached mourning. Sadness for the potential. My memory bank shudders and I realize I met him a very long time ago, when I was 18 and new to orlando. I remember his bike and I remember being instantly drawn to him. I remember how smitten my freshman spirit was to his dirty magnetism. I remember someone seeing my attraction and whispering "stay away from that kid..." This was before I liked the taste of whiskey, before I was covered in homemade tattoos, before my mom got used to not hearing from me for weeks at a time. He embodied the adventure I wanted. I listened to the whispering voice, and I admired and analyzed him from afar. I wanted a reputation that precedes me, I wanted to laugh openly and loudly and I wanted to scare people. I wanted to be like him. I am affected by his death because our paths have unknowingly crossed many times in the past, and they never will again in the future. He was the excitement I seeked when I was 18, and he was someone I couldve easily shared experiences with at 24. He didn't know me and I didnt know him but thats okay. He didnt need to know my name to become a landmark in my imagination and development. RIP.
