This a manuscript from Jason, a college friend of mine. I remember when he gave it to me. He was nervous; clearly he was very selective of who gave it to. He asked if this copy was okay, if he should get it spiral bound and put a cover on it. I told him it was fine, took it with reassuring words, and never actually read it.
Jason and I had one of those "outlying" friendship. He was the roommate of a friend of mine and we took an Intro to Film class together freshman year. Beyond that, we actually had very little in common. We did not travel in the same social circles. We had different majors. We had only one common extra curricular, The Film Society, which I only participated in for a year, but Jason was heavily involved with during his four years at Clark. Still, we occasionally ate lunch together and talked over AIM; he came to some of my dance shows and I went to the projection room to say hello when he was screening movies.
We exchanged letters over the summer. I was always entertained by his un-ironic, overly formal writing style. One letter reads, "I hope that you were successful in finding a substitute teaching job, and furthermore I hope you have not departed into the New England wilderness, lest I have a long wait for a reply." Jason, a budding filmmaker, was always so caught up in the romance of language and stretching his artistic muscles. He loved black and white movies and would often channel the writing styles of days far gone by.
I first rediscovered this copy of his novel,
The Executioner, a few years ago. I glanced at the first page and was impressed by the opening lines.
In the heart, in the hidden chamber of lust and dreams, there lays a raging storm; the storm of conformity and reality, of morals and virtue. Drops of rain crash to the ground. Icy and embittered, sometimes grooming the bed of life for its Spring, other times drowning ambition and extinguishing the fire of idealism that lies below.
Instead of becoming engrossed in the story, I jumped on Facebook to say Hi to Jason and apologize for not reading his book the first time around.
I found I had waited too long. Jason had died many months before.
This was the first time that I had learned about someone's passing via Facebook, but I am sure it won't be the last. As with any death, especially the sudden death of a peer, it was disorientating. I spent the next few days in a fog, feeling guilty that I hadn't been in contact more frequently with him, that it had taken almost a year before I even found out he was gone. Those feelings, at least, seemed normal. Added to them, however, was the somewhat voyeuristic nature of Facebook. Even though I hadn't spoken with Jason for over a year, his posts were all right there in front of me: plans with friends, venting about school, the same type of stuff we all post about. Then his posts just suddenly end, and a wave of farewells and condolences from friends, family and acquaintances takes over. It was surreal, but, as I've seen multiple times since then, it is the new normal.
Still, even after that, I did not take the time to read Jason's novel. At first it the news of his death was too fresh, so I put the manuscript on the shelf where it stayed while I got busy with other things. When this project rolled around, however, I knew that it had to be given its due time. This blog has mostly been about reliving a few fun memories while dealing out some light, self-deprecating jabs. It is also, however, a motivator for me to tie up what might otherwise be permanent loose ends.
For all my years of procrastination, I was able to read
The Executioner over the course of a weekend. It is a political thriller with a particularly grandiose plot line. The prose are all beautifully written, which was especially impressive given that the timeline of the story made it clear that he had started writing it in high school. There were some holes here and there, but considering that it was a working draft from a college kid, the they were more than forgivable. I was reminded of our ideological differences when I began to notice that some variation of the word "patriot" appeared on almost every page, and there were multiple references to people who "bled red, white and blue". I was glad that I read it, however. It felt like a long overdue visit with an old friend.
I mailed the novel to Jason's sister just before Christmas. Today is the 3rd anniversary of his passing.
