#72, Matthew V.

Matthew. My sister and i fondly referred to you as "the gay white aborigine". You worked at the art store, and smelled like patchouli and the strong smoke of smudged sage. You were tallish, and way skinny, and seemed to acquire an extra few pounds just from all of the metal accessories you wore, which clanked in announcement of your arrival before you even got near anyone. You wore jean jackets or vests, with tattered band shirts, and always boots. Your long, dark, wiry beard was the subject of much wonder. i had never seen anyone with the kind of tattoos that you had: green, swampy, spirally art covered much of your exposed flesh. You wore horn in your ears and bone in your nose, and the inside of your van was covered with feathers and animal skulls. Originally from Louisiana, you had become a vegan while living in the Bay Area but still sometimes secretly snacked on the fried pork skins your mom would send you. Wherever you were to be found, there was always Jack Daniels and death metal. Once i was coming back from a bank run and saw you leaning casually against the front wall of the store, eating a mango.
want some? you asked me, and sliced off a piece with your buck knife. We stood there, and ate, smiling in the sun, delicious yellow juice dripping from our fingers. i miss you, man!

#71, Alexandria.

Ah, Alexandria. My childhood partner-in-crime. You were so pretty and mischievous, with long, wavy, dark golden hair. i remember playing Atari (Donkey Kong!) and eating deliciously sweet lemon-flavored yogurt (through a straw) at your house, which was one of the nicer ones i'd ever seen. It had rosebushes and a white-picket fence, not to mention a secret door in one of the upstairs hallways that lead to the attic. Super exciting. You and i were obsessed with Richie Valens for awhile; we'd sit on the light-blue carpet of your bedroom floor belting out "Oh Donna" and "Boney Maronie". We knew all of the lyrics to every song, and we must have watched La Bamba like eighty times. i used to steal tubs of Betty Crocker chocolate frosting and eat it at your house. i kept it hidden underneath your bed, along with a spoon. You had rose-scented Play-Doh, a Corgi who was constantly trying to hump my leg, and a cute older brother whom i had a crush on. Once, in your backyard, he flicked my leg with a wet towel and it left a huge welt.

One afternoon, we decided to pull off The Great Candy Heist. Dressed up in various costumey-accessories (a flashy gold lamé purse among them), we headed to the nearby drug store. Once in the candy aisle, i stuffed bar after bar of the good stuff into my purse, and into the giant rolled-up cuffs of my pants. You had your shirt bottom pulled up and then back down through the neck hole, bra-style, and were busily shoving bags of M&Ms in there. i believe there were also some Abba Zabbas crammed into your cowboy boots. i had Butterfingers in my jacket sleeves. We bought a Caramello each, for authenticity, and headed toward the sliding doors with our score.

An old security guard caught us (Your mother let you buy that much candy?) before we even got to the parking lot. We were marched back down the candy aisle (i sobbed: we'll put it baaaaack!) to the office at the rear of the store. Mug shots were taken of us both, each with a mat placed on our knees containing the heap of candy we'd stolen. Our parents were phoned, and arrived shortly to drag us to the car by our wrists. We were forbidden to see each other after that, and (i don't know about you but) i was grounded for weeks. We lost touch sometime after that. You went to Costa Rica? That's all i knew. Hope to get back in touch with you some day.

#70, Troy.

Troy was a very small man with sad eyes and a troubled affect, who used to come into the bakery when i first started there. He would always show up around 6:00 for a cup of coffee and offer up some (extremely quiet and hard to understand) small talk. Eventually i realized he was hitting on me, in a very roundabout way, and had to sort of... let him down, gently. He seemed very sensitive, and eventually it came out that out he was a jockey at Golden Gate Fields. One day he just stopped coming in. Today i watched a video of this year's Kentucky Derby final (wow!), and remembered Troy. Hope you're happy out there, buddy.

#69, Jesse Melnyk

Jesse. You were a couple of years behind me in high school. A cute, shy boy with intense brown eyes, always wearing a Nirvana t-shirt. i know if i had been your age i would have fallen for you, hard. Recently i found out that you committed suicide in late 2005. From what i can tell, you jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. And recently i was talking to a friend about how i don't think they should put that safety net up. Do i still think that? i don't know. i'm sorry you were so unsure about life... It goes without saying, you are missed. You are a strong presence permanently in the endless rambling closet of my brain. i don't think i'll ever forget your face.

#68, Katie H.

Katie,
You let me use your dad's film processing equipment one night when i had a photography assignment (a photo essay of a pool game) due the next day. i barely knew you, but a mutual friend made it happen, and you were so sweet about it. i remember having to blow-dry the negatives because i didn't leave enough time to dry them out, which actually ended up making the prints a little scratchier and more interesting (note to future self). You were just like a real-life pixie, and once i ran into you on an outdoor BART platform, and you were wearing low-top Converse and smoking a cigarette, which was against the rules. i decided then and there that i wanted to be more like you. One Halloween you dressed up like Charlie Chaplin. Just so you know? That was the coolest. costume. ever. In conclusion: thank you for helping me finish my assignment! i got an A, even though i totally didn't deserve it.

#67, Ben Sundance.

Ben, i barely knew you before you died. You were Suzanna's (half-?) brother, and an all-around Great Guy. Everyone wanted to know you. You were a few years older than us, and always knew where the party was. You listened to the Beastie Boys, and all the girls had crushes on ya. One year, you had a new year's eve party, which Suzanna was allowed to bring me to (!). i remember there were lots of cute, older boys, and a giant bowl of plain M&Ms on the table, which to me at the time seemed like the height of Party Fun. i impressed one of you with my joint-rolling skills (hey, what can i say?), and then someone put on "Mellow Yellow" by Donovan. It totally blew my mind, and i remember thinking the next day that you and your friends were the coolest people ever.
One night after an argument with your girlfriend, you hung yourself. No one had any idea it was going to happen. Suzanna was a shell of her former self. Your memorial was held at the Berkeley Marina, on the day of my high school graduation. All of my friends wanted to get drunk before their graduation ceremony instead of going, which is something i am still mad about sometimes. i showed up near the water with my cap and gown in hand, wearing my only black dress (it was velvet), because i had never done this before. Everyone else was dressed for the cold, windy weather. i followed the kites that were tied to the picnic tables. We all cried and laughed, while the wind blew and blew. i hardly knew you, but it felt good to be there, and to be there for Suzanna. i was still crying as i slipped into the line of new graduates a couple of hours later, trying to pin on that stupid graduation cap. Hope you are watching over Suzanna, if that sort of thing is at all possible, and that whatever it was no longer hurts.

#66, Suzanna K.

Suzanna. i can't remember if it was an "S" or a "Z", but you were a character, indeed. The oldest picture i have of you from middle school was you kissing my best girl friend J____ in the living room of my mom's old house. Such a shocker! You had short (almost shaved, most of the time) dark hair and gorgeous eyes, often heavy-lidded due to recent marijuana use. Long eyelashes, a dreamy way of talking. Your mom was a harsh woman, and your dad lived in a vaaaaaaaaan, down by the marina! He was Native American, and had a huge drinking problem. You and i used to ride our bikes down there to visit him. He smoked Camel non-filters ("bullets"), which i thought was so impressive that i started to smoke them myself, for about a month, until i thought i would literally hack up a lung. One night, while drunk, you fell from Indian Rock (not terribly far, but enough to cut your head), where we were all hanging out in the middle of the night. A few of us ran down the path and found someone with a phone, and an ambulance was called. Your mom was furious. She made you go to AA, and since no one else would go with you, i did. It was not so bad; we were definitely the youngest ones in the room. Later you ran away from home and stayed at a friend's house in Berkeley. i visited you there, and your room smelled like pot and sounded like Jimi Hendrix. There was a huge tie-died sheet as a curtain, and you were mad when i said we were worried about you. Where are you now? i miss you, Suzanna.