Dustland Fairytale

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I met them when I was 18. They were loud and they were laughing and they were everywhere.

I think I loved them all immediately.

I fell into a very intact group of friends who had known each other forever. I loved that about them, it was like opening a book to the middle and sinking all the way in.

They were incredible. Some were in school with me, some had graduated, some had chosen their own path all together. But we were all together.

They lived in this ridiculous house that was both falling apart and keeping everyone stable. It was dusty rose with a backyard and back porches. For several years this one house on this one street felt like the entire world. There was no place that wasn’t 3 Charlotte Street and since there never has been a place that matched it.

Everyone was so talented and hypnotic. And stupid.

Since Drew’s death, I’ve told them I wish that I could scoop us all up and put us back there, where we were safe and stupid and drunk and so happy. We didn’t know we were happy or maybe I didn’t know.

All we knew was that the floors were sticky from spilled PBRs and that the bathroom door didn’t close all the way and that the rack was ready for whatever booze we could afford and the Killers were on the fucking radio.

It’s easy now to look at those years and think they were perfect and that we supported each other and that nothing bad could ever happen, but that’s obviously not the case.

We grew out and in and over.

I hadn’t talked to Drew in, well honestly I can’t remember the last time. I didn’t know him as a videographer, as an artist, as a full grown human. I saw his work through social media and I was so glad that he was doing what he wanted.

The Drew I remember was a guy who we called “Double Shot”, not for nothing either. We handled a handle of whiskey in a weekend between us and Tyler, Mike, and Matthew. We didn’t care and we just fucking went.

Drew was always asking for more or for some or for what he deserved or for what he thought others deserved. He was insatiable. I regret yelling at him for taking chili before it was ready and for sharing the pasta I’d made with a stranger he met.

He wanted so much for himself and he wanted so much more for everyone else.

I can still hear him and see him scratching his chest with a new argument or a new reason why we should let a homeless person into the house.

He was absolutely not perfect. He wasn’t a saint. He wasn’t some slick chrome American prince.

He just wanted more.

I am so sad that he felt that he couldn’t find it, or that he wasn’t offered it.

I am so desperately in love with the years we all spent together.

If there’s a heaven I bet it’s just the Killers on shuffle and some really great beer.

I love you Drew. I’m so proud of who you met and what you were able to accomplish. You made such an incredible mark beyond our college years. I am so grateful to have been a part of your life. I’m so lucky to have had so many years with you and with our friends.

Now Cinderella don’t you go to sleep
Its such a bitter form of refuge
Ah don’t you know the kingdoms under siege
And everybody needs you
Is there still magic in the midnight sun
Or did you leave it back in sixty-one
In the of the cadence in the young mans eyes
And were the dreams roll high

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