And my fear - a very real fear, I feel - is that my memory of him will fade, and all I'll have is the memory of the photographs of him. Already, looking at pictures, I close my eyes and try and remember the moment itself, rather than the photographic representation of the moment, and I struggle. I see the picture of him, not him. The pictures help and hurt at the same time.
Italo Calvino wrote a short story about a man that originally hated photography. He felt that if any moment deserved to be preserved in photograph, then every moment in life deserved the same; therefore you must either live your life in the most photographable way possible, or else consider photographable every moment of your life - believing that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed. Eventually he ended up pursuing the latter thought, and became the obsessed photographer, finally photographing photographs as the only course that he had left.
I look at these pictures of Schrowe and I think, Maybe this is a bad idea - maybe I should never look at a photo of him again and do everything I can to preserve the memory of him that I have already in my brain. But I don't think our brains are designed with that capacity. Or at least, mine isn't. I need the photos. I wish I'd photographed more. I wish I'd walked around with a video camera or tape recorder at all times when I was around him. I haven't had enough. Even if it's the same conversation, I want to have it again. I want to laugh at the same jokes. I'm fine with that. Something. I haven't had my fill of Schrowe.
So another request: if you're up for it, please post any memory of him you can think of in the comments here. It'd help me. I think. Maybe it'd be helpful for others. I don't care if it's the lamest story ever, or if it's just a single sentence. I'd appreciate it regardless.
Sorry if this sounds like begging. I guess it's come to that. For me.
middleCoast is my support group. Like it or not.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
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6 comments:
One day in Lawrence, I was driving Tyler (one of Jason's old roommates) and Jason somewhere. Jason was in the backseat, and in control of my ipod. He put on the song "Strangers" by Portishead and said, "This is my favorite song by them." I had a gigantic crush on Jason, so Strangers became my favorite song too. I only recently remembered this. I don't know why, because I listen to Portishead a lot, but something made me instantly remember that. Every time I hear Portishead, particularly Strangers, I think of Jason and sing me heart out.
nice. thanks.
In Vegas for the NCAA tournament....Schrizza pooped his pants man. No photos to prove it (thankfully)...just 28 hrs of uncontrollable laughter.
Seeing him walk up to us on the lawn at lolla. In his carnation pink polo (or was it sunny yellow that first day?) and his jeans (wasn't it 95 that day?) with that sly smile. He was the picture of happiness and his face was full of the anticipation of what would become an amazing and unforgettable weekend.
i went to high school with him, but a few years ago he emailed me out of the blue because i had written about him in my journally thing and he was guessing that i was the writer. it was nice talking to him again, and i had planned to see him at the reunion this year. my sister told me this weird news yesterday... so sad.
he was very tan and many girls wanted to make out with him in high school. for whatever that's worth.
Sitting on my couch in NY, (studying the face of a guy who I had spent literally 12 days of life with, but he got me deeper than most), chain smoking, watching old cartoons.
Bringing him to Barcade in Williamsburg, BK (the bar with ENDLESS beer and old vintage video games lining the walls and hot hipster chicks): and he walked in, and looked around- and looked at me with this smile I could never forget...night of debauchery.
I also enjoyed watching girls watch him. We spoke to each other like sailors- and I loved to see how far I'd have to go before he'd get nervous...and try to sound like he wasn't , I'd call him out, and we'd laugh hysterical.
We were absolutely ridiculous together, we were on that stupid AIM thing all day, every day at work, laughing. I'd come into the office, sign on, see him there, and the endless conversation began. MY FAVORITE was, whenever I was having a shit day, or having a hard time with something- he would take pictures of himself making funny faces and send them to me- just to make me happy. (I'd post some if I knew how)
Walking into Karaoke, J is sitting on a stool, he is piss drunk, with a Microphone, a slutty girl hitting on him, singing Prince.... he looks at me, smiles with that little space in his teeth thing.... just loved him.
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