Ryan Dana Monroe Mutha Fucka -- The Forgotten

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Date Posted: 01/ 1/07 8:50pm Monday
Author: Richard (DRUNK)
Subject: Ryan Dana Monroe Mutha Fucka

Hey there,
Been a while since i have really kept up with you guy. i guess i have gotten old, boring, and apethitic in a lot of ways since the last time I saw you guys (Atlanta '98). Shit ton of things have happened on my end since then so how in the hell could i be surprised to finde that the line up looks a little differant. Oh well... whatever... sorry that this points out that i haven't followed you as closely as i would like but hell... that's life right. I just wanted to post a little something on here that i wrote for a book that i'm trying to one day hopefully soon push out to the publishers and ten THE WORLD. Yeah... Whatever. Just a quick little story about ba guy we all love and miss.

RYAN DANA MONROE

Being that my day to day job is always full of other people�s grief, it has unfortunately become that I have developed a bit of a callous over my heart to old men dying. I usually see beyond the crying family and find something beautifully romantic in it all.
It�s not so easy when we lose people that are close to us. That goes double when we lose them like we lost Ryan.
I was fifteen years old when I discovered punk rock.
A year later I discovered Jared who would eventually become one of my best friends, my roommate, and the front man for my band.
A year after I met Jared, Jared met Mike and because Jared met Mike, I met Mike.
To rip off Social Distortion lyrics, �It�s been ten year and a thousand tears�� and the relationship that I share with Mike is like no other. There will be plenty to say about him later but for now�
Mike�s best friend was Ryan. And so because I knew Mike, I knew Ryan. I have gotta tell you about this crazy guy.
One of the first times that I met Ryan it was me, Matt, and Mike over at Ryan�s apartment. Ryan had lived in California for a few years and a friend of his from Berkley was in town. The drunken night was spent watching as Ryan plucked hair after hair from his shirtless friend�s chest, asking politely �Can I have this?�
�Can I have this?�
�Do you want that?�
�No. I want you to have that.�
�So I can have this?�
�You can have that.�
�Well I don�t want this. I want you to have it.�
�I can have it?�
�You can have it.�
�Cause I really want it.�
�Well you can have it.�
�But I want you to have it. Take it.�
�Good because I want it.�
The whole time the chest hair was being passed back and forth between the two. At some point it would fall to the floor and be lost in the oblivion of the carpet. Immediately Ryan would lunge forward for another and pluck it in unison with the question. �Can I have this?�
At some points it went further. Ryan would turn to me or Matt, his two newest acquaintances, place the hair in our hands and say. �We want you to have this.� And for the next few lines of the exchange we were included in the dialog.
It wasn�t always fun and games after that night. Well, with hindsight, it was always fun, but not always games.
I was working a grueling third shift at the time and my normal bedtime was around eight in the morning. More times than I care to count though, I would have just settled into a deep sleep when I would be awakened by pounding on my front door.
�Richard? Richard, are you in there? Are you asleep? I know you�re asleep man. Wake up. I�ve got beer.�
My eyes would creak open and the alarm clock would confirm the suspicions that I had the moment that I heard Ryan�s voice. It was still morning to the world� night to me. Eight-fifteen in the morning, a six-pack of tallboys in each hand when I let him in, and Ryan would just be standing there� grinning his goofy grin and saying �Dude, I was banging on your door for like ten minutes.�
Ten minutes. So it was five past eight� EIGHT IN THE FUCKING MORNING when Ryan had showed up with BEER. Most people would be lucky to only get punched a good one in the kisser, before their beer is stolen and they are left with a door slammed in their face. But you just couldn�t do that to Ryan for some reason that to this day I can�t put my finger on.
�I just needed to talk man.�
And sometimes he really did. He needed to talk about his girl. He needed to talk about his job. He needed to talk about his past. He needed to talk about his future. Other times he said that he needed to talk but he never really got around to telling you what he really needed to talk about and so we would just sit around drinking and talking about nothing until it was time for me to wake up anyway.
It was during this time that I was really starting to grow up. I was younger than Ryan, but sometimes it seemed like he was asking me for any answers that I might have beaten him to finding.
And then� he was moving the next day. We had a going away bash for him. There were all the essentials. I was there. Mike of course. And there was Jared and Matt too. Chris Vann. We weren�t calling it a going away party. It was a John, Johnny and Pabst party. A friend and neighbor of Mike�s house and we spent the night with John Wayne movies on in the background, Johnny Cash on the stereo, and a tall boy in every hand. Maybe Jared was drinking on Heineken now that I really think back on it but whatever. So here�s the story. About halfway through the night Matt and I had finished off the beer that we had brought and while others still had enough to keep them busy, there wasn�t an abundance to be shared. It all came down to either Mike or Ryan. We needed someone of age to make a quick run for us. I wanted a proper chance to spend a minute alone with Ryan so I struck a deal with him. He and I head off for the store and I�d buy whatever it is that he wanted to drink in exchange for him doing the actual purchasing. We pulled into the Kroger and I started to dish the money out. I repeated the offer.
�If you could have any kind of beer in the world right now, what kind would it be?�
�Pabst.�
�No. I mean if you were like filthy rich and could afford to buy any beer that they make, what would you buy?�
��You mean like I�ve got all the money in the world kind of rich. Like enough money to blow on any kind of beer kind of rich?�
�Yeah. That kind of rich. Say you�re on a hundred dollar beer budget for the night. What kind of beer would you buy?�
Ryan thought about it for a second and then looked at me, proudly announcing, �I�d buy a shit load of Pabst.�
So he bought a shit load of Pabst and we headed back for the party. At a red light he told me to look at him. I did and as soon as my head was turned he started fumbling over his words:
�Dude. I don�t want you to get me wrong or anything. It�s totally nothing like that or anything it�s just that well� I mean I�m not in love with you and I don�t want to bone you or anything. It�s just that I think you are a great friend and all and I just want to let you know that.�
�Alright man. Thanks. I think that you are a great guy and I�m gonna miss you.�
But the truth is I don�t think that I got that much of my response out before he grabbed me by the head and planted a kiss right on my lips.
And he was dead on right about it. It wasn�t all sexy or anything like that. He didn�t go for my tonsils and it was over in less than a second. It was perfect for the moment. Two friends restricted by a set of the jacked up western culture�s barriers on friendly expression through the pop kiss and for one moment we breached them.
He started to apologize. I shut him up with a gesture and an open beer.
�Yeah man. I�m gonna miss you too.�
Well, I came across a little rant that I wrote about a year ago that tells the rest of the story better than I could do now so�

And then the next thing you know Mike�s never at home anymore.
And then the next thing you know Matt has grown out a beard and is playing in an emo-metal band and every time that you watch him play it�s like watching your first true love fuck someone else on stage.
And then Jared�s packing his shit and moving back in with his parents and you don�t even know what to say to him when he hands you the key, obviously feeling the same exact same way as you. And he walks out without a word� just a heartbreaking head nod.
And Becca�s a NAZI or something pretty fucking close to it.
And you run into Jeremy and he�s wearing a Piston�s jersey or some shit like that. He�s just sitting there outside the mall and he is holding a pager that doesn�t even work. He tells you that it helps him to �pimp on chicks.�
And Suzan has a cell phone. A cell phone. You saw her sucking dick in a vomit filled and spray painted shed with like fifteen people watching through the window and now she has a fucking cell phone.
And now you�ve bought a lamp with the gift certificate that they just gave you for three faithful years of service at Target.
And Chris� �No honey, he�s not here but can I take a message and have him call you back?�
And then it�s Valentines Day and the Christmas tree is still up and you�re alone in a three bedroom house with only one bed and it�s the middle of the day and you�ve just rented SLC Punk and as you�re watching it for the first time and nodding and smiling in remembrance� that�s when Matt calls.
And Matt calls.
And Matt calls.
And Matt calls.
And he tells you.
And Matt calls and he tells you.
And then the Christmas tree comes down.
The Christmas tree comes down fast.
And the ornaments break.
And the ones that don�t break when they hit the floor� they break when they hit the walls.
And you break with them.
And you cry out.
And then you calm down.
And then you put the movie back on and man oh man the ending. Fucking irony for you. God�s sick sense of humor. Life�s morbid sort of choreography.
And then you break again.
And then its a few weeks later and you�re with the boys again� one last time.
A drunken wake and Ryan�s not there.
And Ryan�s gone.
And fuck heroin.
And you�re damn right I�m not a punk.
Fuck if I ever was one.

The time had come for Ryan to move back to the big CA. He had moved here to get away from drugs. It had worked. He was stronger now. Ready to give California another shot. And he would make it. We all had faith in him. We hated like hell to see him go, but we knew that we�d see him again. �No goodbyes� we all promised. �I�ll see you later.�
He did good for a long time. One slip. That�s all it took. He ran into an old �friend� and it was one of those �one last time for old time�s sake� hits.
Fuck heroin.
At his wake we all laughed and cried and drank and told stories. It was good I think. It was good and it was fucking horrible.
Ryan has been gone six years this month and we still cheers him, pour sips from our beer for him, and when we�ve had way too much, we embrace and we cry and we scream �Fuck him!�
But it�s okay because we know that he�s watching, grimacing over the beer being poured out in his name, and saying, �Fuck you guys too. I might have up and died on you. But at least when I was around I had the sense not to pour out a perfectly good sip of P�ber.�

anyway... love to here from you guys but actually i never get on line so no huge rush. Knoxville would love to have you, though we can't promise much. whatever. take care. -R-

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Replies:

Re: Ryan Dana Monroe Mutha Fucka -- Gordy, 03/ 2/07 9:24pm Friday