I ran into a guy I knew from high school the other day. We hadn’t seen each other in years. Decades. There’s nothing like running into an old, good memory. It slows you down. It makes you think about where you come from and what you’ve done and why you are who you are. It reminds you of what’s real, or at least, what used to feel real before you got sucked into the jet stream of the rat-race. 

We started shooting the shit about old times and old friends. Of course the conversation turned to Gary. It always does. Gary. Damn it, Gary. He hadn’t seen him lately (neither had I), but he had heard what happened. Everyone had heard what happened. Gary always tried to walk the line, but crossing it was more fun for him. And cross it he did. 

I remember the summer after junior year. We all got jobs. Gary, too. But, Gary’s job didn’t require a W2. Man, he had money falling out of his pockets. All the people he worked thought Gary was sharp. He was, but his knife cut both ways. By mid July Gary was gone. The heat on him was hotter than the summer sun so he just put it all down and split. The next time we saw him was Christmas. I’m not even sure if he ever graduated high school. Doesn’t matter. He didn’t need a diploma for his line of business. 

We continued to talked about stories over beers. We heard about the business Gary was doing. Everyone knew it was trouble. For Gary, trouble was part of it. Trouble was business and business was pleasure. Gary LIVED for the business.

There I was, just talking about Gary the other day. I haven't heard from him in forever. And then, there he is, standing at my doorstep with a bottle of Walker Blue and a shit eating grin sitting under that mustache.

Gary had been MIA. I figured he was deep into another one of his wild hair schemes. Remember that time he worked for months to get his pilot license and then he got that job at that Santa Fe airstrip? What was he thinking!? I never thought he'd get rid of that stuff. But, of course he did. Fucking Gary.

He didn't stay at the house long. He was here maybe 4 hours. We shot the shit and talked about what happened. Wild. I went to slice up a few more avocados and by the time I got back Gary was gone. I looked out the sliding glass doors just in time to see his taillights fading. I think I heard that damn Zevon song pouring out of that old convertible.

He didn't leave a note, but he did leave the scotch... and the check was there under the bottle, just as he said it would be. Gary. He's always in it for the pleasure, but he never forgets about the business.

There was a point in time where whatever Gary did, whatever he touched, whatever he pointed his knowing gaze at, worked. I remember once in '98 when Gary just went for it. It could have all imploded on him. It could have ruined him. But he just... did it. That was balls. It was walking on water, balls. You just had to rear back and belly laugh. Only Gary could have pulled that off.

I think it was when she left him... just a few months after 9/11... that it all fell apart for him. He couldn't reconcile why she left with everything they had going for them. It broke him.

For Gary, it was always about tempting fate. It was always about taking the risk and being crazy enough to think... to know... it was going to work. He was majestic. Now... it's just business.