It was December 10th, 2007. One week after his birthday, but I didn’t know that yet.
Georgia and I walked into Broken City for the afternoon jam. We got pints, sat in a booth and watched.
He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. His guitar was yellow and black, and he had a cigarette hanging from his lips. He played Human Fly by The Cramps (here).
My heart fluttered. The room quieted. I knew it right then and there.
I am mad for this man, Georgia. I need to meet this man.
Like a good friend, she walked over and said as much. He came to our table and sat down and we talked for awhile.
He got up and announced it was time for him to go, walking over to the stage. I thought I was going to lose him.
He put on a red jacket, slung his guitar over his shoulder, and returned to my table.
“Well, are you coming?” he asked.
And so I went.
And I never looked back and I never said goodbye and I never doubted it for a moment. It was him.
He died on January 7th, 2010. A week after tattooing a dot on my ankle. A tattoo that screams ‘I was here and I was yours’ before he left.