Friday, October 19, 2007

These will be random, as the memory emerges...

One time I saw Jan's brother Jerry, a true hippie, raging alchoholic and drug addict (I remember Howard, Jan's dad saying "Boy, you on that herain?." Add a hillbilly drawl and you understand that herain would be pronounced heroin.) throw Jan down the den stairway. Seventeen stairs, and he never hit the floor. Instead he crashed into the wall at the base. That was one of the few times I ever saw Jan cry. I didn't run but I was scared. Jerry was out of his mind and we were tormenting him. Things like "hey you fucking hippie, get a haircut and take a bath." Jerry was cool. I was twelve, Jan was eleven. We were nine months apart. Boys, you will never understand where I have been but there are many more "Jan: a dog" stories to come.