a history of me

Last night we had a power failure. Not the building, just in our room. That fucking sucked. I made the most of it though; I went to a lounge and tried to catch up on my reading. But if anyone tried to phone last night, you didn't get through because my cordless phone doesn't ring without electricity.

But that's not the really bad news. I've just learned that another former high school classmate is dead, Drew Ranavaro. I won't mince words though. In high school, he was an asshole. He bullied me without remorse. It was all just a joke to him, and I heard enough "colorful" tales about him to be really scared of him.

This went on for a few years afterwards since Croton is a small town and we would encounter each other with some regularity. Also, he had a friendlier relationship with some of my friends, leading to the occasional conflict. The trickiest point came when Drew worked at a local pizzeria that I frequented. I had a standard policy for dealing with bullies that my parents taught me: ignore them. This never made them stop like my parents said it would, but it certainly shortened our encounters. So whenever I ran into Drew around town, I would rarely acknowledge him and saying only what was necessary if I saw him at the pizzeria. He would call out an insult or two, but I would not respond.

I abandoned this policy circa 2002. I passed Drew somewhere and rather than look away or try to ignore him, I deliberately spoke to him and offered a casual greeting. He replied in turn and we went about our business. No insults were ever spoken towards me again. After nearly a decade of torment we were suddenly even. In fact, we actually became a little friendly. Not to the point where we met up and had drinks or anything, but I visited his home sometimes, and he did so in turn.

I hadn't seen Drew in quite some time. According to the obituaries, he moved to the Tampa/St. Petersburg area in January of this year. A quick search online of his last name reveals only nine hits (not counting this page), most of which are various references to his obituaries here in New York as well as Florida. Neither says how he died, or even offered much about how he lived. One obituary said he "worked in retail sales," and another mentioned a daughter whom I never met. I'm not sure which upsets me more: his daughter growing up without a father, or that the only thing his obituary could say was that he "worked in retail sales."

Naturally, the death of someone I knew is disturbing. It is more disturbing given that he was younger than I am, and we were of similar body types. I don't handle matters of my own mortality very well, so I can't dwell on this or I'll freak out. But please, if I die somewhere before my time (so to speak), do whatever you can to make my obit say something meaningful. Exaggerate. Fantasize if you have to. Just don't mention any specific job I held. I don't want to die as just another former postal worker.