Chet

I just wrote something up on my other blog. I've been severely distracted these past few days with recent death of Chet. I don't know if writing is simply my way of venting or remembering or whatever it is. I know that whatever I write doesn't convey whatever I feel. It's something. It's something of the moment and though I'm not articulate now or ever really, I just need to the get thoughts down. I'm talking out loud to myself and my fingers are moving, but I'm not really taking a lot of time to think. Maybe that's what I need now. I need to stop thinking. Therapy. That's what writing is. I know that whatever I say now has the potential of pushing me back to Monday, back to shock, back to numb, back of suffocating, back to something I don't want to think about. But for the past few days, I've done nothing but think.

I didn't know Chet as well as other friends of mine, but he affected me nonetheless. His death was not only a shock, but more devastating than I think I could have prepared myself for. In some ways I'm grateful that I wasn't closer to him and yet at the same time so upset for not having been closer. Since hearing the news Monday, the only thing I can think about is Chet. There's Chet's laugh, there's Chet's smile, and so on. I just need to write the things I do remember before I forget. And I didn't know him that well, but I don't want to forget.

I remember when I first saw him holding hands with my neighbor when I was in 9th grade. I had come back to the middle school for some reason and saw them walking down the hall. They were in eighth grade. Jeans and a white shirt. It was then that he wore that and that's the probably what I'll always remember him in. That's what Chet will always wear in my mind.

A few months later I actually met Chet face to face when my first play was produced that summer. His arm around my neighbor in the audience. I didn't know what to think of him at first. There was the studded black leath wrist band, clean hair, white shirt and jeans. White shirt and jeans.

Chet fades in and out of my memory. He's in the yard next door, he's in the hall at school, he's at the band performing. Two shows. Maybe those were the only shows I ever saw him perform in. I saw him and his bands perform at a show I helped some friends out with in Ridgefield and another show in the high school.

I remember the summer time yelling, "YO CHET" over into the yard next door in the summer. My dad told me it was stupid to have yelled over at him. He didn't know Chet and I knew each other. I didn't care. When I went out later to the yard again, Chet started yelling back at me. I can't remember what was said, but I remember my dad realizing that it was ok for us to banter at one another.

It wasn't long after I got my driver's license when I was driving home from the high school and saw Chet walking along the grassy stretch that extends from the high school down past the fields. I opened my window and slowed down, "Chet!"

"Oh hey!"

"Where you walking to?"

"Home."

"Where's that?"

"Cheesespring."

"Want a lift?"

"Yes!"

He swung the door open, threw his bag to the ground and was immediately thankful. He told me how he had gotten into a spat with his parents and they couldn't pick him up. He had stayed after school (photo club, detention, I don't know) and didn't have a way home so he was going to walk. The sun was out, the windows were down. It was a good day. I wish I remember more of what we talked about. But he was grateful, happy, laughing. White shirt, black jacket, jeans. I don't even know if I was legal to allow people to ride in my car yet with my permit, but it didn't matter.

What about coming back to the high school that summer? I thought about filming in the theatre there. Chet had been serving some time in the high school and he and the dean had a great relationship, as if they were old friends. Despite his trouble, it didn't matter. I remember talking to her and then striking up conversation with Chet who was in the neighboring room. The three of us talked and I don't remember what it was about. We laughed until the dean stopped me and said, "Don't talk to Chet he's taking an exam." Chet gave her some bs banter and it made me laugh before I finally found it appropriate to leave.

On another instance, he was doing some work and I remember seeing him on the way out, smoking a cigarette.

"She knows I do it, but she just doesn't care anymore. She knows I'm going to do it anyway."

The light conversations outside of Starbucks when there were others around.

The motorcycle. He parked it right outside of Starbucks and everyone made a stink about the revving engine. He got off and immediately lit a cigarette Everyone kept trying to rev it and he eventually got pissed that they would mess up the engine. My friends and I couldn't help but find the whole thing pretty stupid and when one of they guys I was talking to got in his SUV (a mom tank), he revved the enging jokingly and drove off.

The memories buzz in and out and I'm scared that's all I may have left. We saw each other, we knew each other, but what else do we have?

I feel pathetic.

I've reevaluated so much in the past few days. What if someone else I know is gone to tomorrow?

I'm angry with him in many ways. Just really pissed. I want to shake him, scream at him for making us feel the way we do. But he's gone. And it just hurts and it's scary.

So Chet, all I can hope is that you're better wherever you are. There are people that you touched and people who loved you. You've scarred us in some way, but maybe that's not all bad. You left a mark on us that's with us forever. You left before any of us had the chance to forget you as a passing person in our youth. Now you're an entire piece of it. Who knows, maybe you did want to live forever and that's how you did it. Whatever it is, you're a part of us. Maybe this is where the words start to fail me. I know you know what I mean and I'm thankful to have known you. You made me smile, made me roll my eyes, but whatever it was, you were great. You were a character and a great one. That's something I won't forget.

Maybe I'll go to the funeral. I think it'll bring some closure. I've done a lot of thinking on that. i want to go. I don't know if I want to go to the wake though. Is it open? The thought of Chet in a suit, his eyes closed, his expression gone. I don't know if I can see that. For me, Chet will always be they smile, that laugh, the black jacket, the white shirt, and jeans.

Chester (Chet) Wayne Burcheet 1989-2009