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2004-09-12 || 12:04 p.m. || all the shoes in the hallway. || we went to tony's memorial. i didn't know him that well beyond a film class at city college in which he made the most charming heart-breaking three-minute movie and shied away from an overwhelming night class ovation. owen knew him better, having used to work with him at a movie theater in san francisco. he used to give him haircuts in the men's room and i like to imagine them together wearing ties and sitting in the lobby during screenings looking through that yearbook they found in the trash. we drove out to the haight both nervous and unsure what to say when we got there. we passed the apartment once looking for a parking spot and could tell from the kids standing outside smoking that we were overdressed (what do you wear to this sort of thing, part party, part funeral reception?). owen changed back into his converse and switched his suit jacket for his cardigan and i threw my high heels into the back seat. we circled at least four times, trawling the surrounding streets for a place to park. i started thinking about his brothers and how i would feel if my sister died and started to lose it. owen got real quiet. we finally parked on a hill and started in the wrong direction, turning around when we got to the end of the street. we forgot where we parked. we kept walking. we got to the apartment and walked up rickety stairs and it was hot and stuffy and we could hear voices. there were at least a hundred shoes lined up in the hallway at the top of the stairs. fahionable shoes and cute shoes and some with worn toes. grown-up shoes and tiny ones and men's dress shoes brought out only for weddings and funerals. we took ours off and added them to the arrangement and it felt like we were investing in something: we will walk around in socks and barefeet and try not to feel uncomfortable about one foot having painted toe nails and the other without (because the color we chose a week ago, upon the completion of the first foot, proved to not be worth the trouble of the other foot) because everyone is in socks and barefoot. everyone is milling around unsure what to talk about and getting choked up and trying to convey their feelings to his mother and dad and brothers. there were a lot of people inside. tony's brother recognized owen and they shook hands and i shook his hand. we stood off to the side and looked at pictures and i didn't know what to do with myself. there were all kinds of tony things around the room: pictures of him and artwork he had done and a printout of his friendster testimonials and a small book made for the memorial full of stories about him. his parents looked so calm. his mother was surrounded by several girls, some crying. his dad was seated in a folding chair watching all the people. i passed him and put my hand on his shoulder because i didn't know what to say. i was in a class with your son and only talked to him a few times but got that feeling, you know that feeling when you see someone and just know you'd be brilliant friends? and seeing all this right now, all the people who love him so much and all the wonderful things he made and how much everyone adored him, makes me so sad that he's gone. and i'm so sorry because this is such a profound loss. they were handing out buttons and t-shirts. i think they were intended for the zine he had just finished before he died, but now they had this haunty quality. it was odd. the whole thing was odd but exactly how i would want it in the event of my own death: artwork on display, pictures from years and years of life, friends and family and laughing and missing. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |