Danny

I don't quite understand why the news of the death of the boy who I fooled around with in high school and a bit into college has landed with such an impact, but wow. I had tucked that connection in a back pocket of history, like, "Yep. That happened. I remember this guy and his guitar and his music and his smile. I can picture him walking with that peculiar but very charming bounce."

Ever since I learned yesterday that he had died almost a year ago, my mind has been flooded with memories. I remember kissing in the den, the bathroom, his bedroom. He smelled a little musty, but in a good way, like slightly concentrated young man hormones and sweet smoke. There was always music playing. I hadn't listened to Led Zepplin or Aerosmith or even the Stones before he introduced them and what was considered classic rock at the time. He was so long and lanky and almost always relaxed and literally laid back. He was considerably taller than me, which added to the thrill of kissing, and his arms and legs had very blond hairs. 

There is a gap of roughly 30 years and I have zero idea what took him from here to there, who he met, what he learned, where he worked, or what paths he followed, but I can guarantee he made some fucking baller friends along the way.

If he retained even a sliver of who he was way back when, the world is fucking poorer for his absence.