Gerry

Gerry was the catalyst for the birth of this post. Last night, I called Gerry to see if he wanted to meet up for a drink. He had other plans beginning at 7:30 so he declined. A few minutes later, while Missy and I were discussing the cure for the common cold, Gerry walked in with a plastic bag full of CDs I have never heard.

These are for you.

I met gerry when I was 17. He was a recent transfer at Penn State. We were sitting on The Wall at the time. I was irritated with a group of TOTAL hipsters. Being 17 and impressionable, I said something totally inappropriate to shut everyone up. (He’ll remember what that was.) From that moment on, we were friends.

Gerry and I have known each other through so many life changes, it’s a miracle we’re still whole. He’s gotten drunk with me. He’s thrown up with me. And if he had hair, I would have held it back for him as he hurled his dinner into the toilet.

Through the years, he has consistently shared his abysmal knowledge of music, thought, people, dinners, ears, eyes, clothing, trips, ideas, movies, arguments and memories. I have counted on him so many times before. I have even taken him for granted.

I might compare Gerry to my comfort food. He’s the mashed potato dish I crave when I am sad. He’s the grilled cheese and tomato soup I crave when I am cold. He’s the mac and cheese I crave when I am feeling extravagant. He’s a coffee cup on my Sunday morning.

My life would totally and absolutely suck if I hadn’t said something totally inappropriate one day on The Wall at Penn State University. I would have heard less music and travelled to lesser lands. It’d surely be less colorful.

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