Two years ago, Mike, the manager at my park in northern New York, called me and said, ‘I just saw something I hope I never see again!’
-What’s that?
-Josh Ferrante butt-naked.
-I wish I could un-hear that.
Josh is a guy who lives in that park. He had twins with a local woman shortly before Mike called me. I was surprised to hear that he was having problems. I had spoken with him, his two baby girls and their mother just a few weeks previously. I bumped into them while I was walking by their home and they were transferring the kids from the home to car-seats. They made jokes with me about sleep deprivation; I told them to enjoy the kids while they were little. Josh said that it was crazy that he was first having kids at the age of forty. I said he would be a better father with some wisdom. They seemed like a nice young family. Then, Mike called me to tell me that the mother had moved out with the kids, Josh had gotten into drugs, freaked out, taken off all his clothes, and had a seizure on his front steps.
The more I tried not to picture Josh naked and shivering on his steps, the more intrusive the image became. Mike continued,
-I could write a book!
-I could burn it.
After the freak-out, Josh’s mother travelled up from Florida to take care of the home while he checked in to rehab. He retained a few drug addict-type tics after he got out. He spoke fast and he did not seem to know where to put his hands when we chatted. But he was good. He took great care of his lot. He put a gravel perimeter around the skirting of his home, installed a foot-path made of pavers from the driveway to the front door and planted a well-tended garden at the back. He paid his lot rent. And he kept his clothes on.
Six months after the seizure he told me, ‘It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ I asked,
-You see the kids anymore?
-No.
-What’s wrong with their mother?
-Crazy.
.
Mike called me this afternoon, to tell me that Josh had died. I said, ‘What?’
-He ODed.
-When?
-Today.
-Is he still there?
-No.
One of the people who he had done drugs with the night before had come back in the morning. When Josh hadn’t answered the door, the guy let himself in with his spare key. When he found Josh’s body, he called the cops.
-Is his mother around?
-She’s in Florida. She says she doesn’t want to come up. She can’t do it.
-What about the mother of the twins?
-She doesn’t want any part of it.
-You know if his mother has any contact with her grandbabies?
– I can’t imagine one of your kids going before you.
-Neither can I.
When I spoke with Josh’s mother, she said, ‘March has never been a good month for us’. Her brother and one of her nephews had died in March. I offered any help that we could give. I asked about the grandbabies, but she told me that she had never met them, because their mother refused to take her calls. I thought, ‘It is only the tenth. G-d knows what else March has in store.’
A few hours before he called to tell me about Josh, Mike had called to tell me that a woman named Miriam had a furnace problem. Her igniter was shot. He needed to replace it. He thought that it should be a quick fix, unless her boyfriend had caused damage when he tried to start the furnace with a cigarette lighter after the igniter blew out. ‘Shit for brains’, Mike said. ‘Who shoves a cigarette lighter up into an open gas pipe? You can’t fix stupid.’ ‘Hey’, I said –
-What.
-Have you heard of the Darwin Awards?
-What’s that?
-They are awards that are given to people who improve the human gene pool by dying. To get one, you have to die in a way that shows that the species is better off without your genes than with them. It’s a way of fixing stupid that takes a few generations.
-Hah, hah!
-Maybe we should nominate people in the park.
-Oh, yeah.
I do not mean to say that Josh should get a Darwin Award. Quite the opposite. He was a decent guy who was dealt a bad hand and had his demons. He was a good neighbor and good company. I will miss him. But Miriam’s boyfriend is a strong candidate.
Nice story. Don’t you know how to spell God? there’s an o in the middle , not a -.
Of course. I was being tongue in ch-k.
“Well, he said. Life. What can you say ? It’s not for everybody.” (C. McCarthy)
M. Le Professeur! Do you pronounce the place-name that meant, in Algonquian, ‘Place where the waters narrow’ [kwIh bek], [kEh bek], or [kwee bek]?
C’est toi le polyglotte, John. Disons « Québec », comme tout le monde.