| To The Faithfully Departed |
| Dear Abe, This is Nate Mecija. I know you probably don't remember me but we all remember you. It's been a year since you first left but the impact you left behind is still standing strong. I don't know where to begin, but I'll try. I remember Gary introducing me to you the first few days that I was at Servite. I was a transfer student from the piss-fuck school of Troy High and I didn't have many friends. It sucks because I still don't. But anyway, I'm a little off topic. I can't say that I officially know you and that could probably make you mad. I know that if I were gone and people had these fake emotions of sympathy and empathy then I'd be pretty fucking pissed. These feelings I have aren't fake though, man. I remember at your funeral, Justin Alonzo was balling like a motherfucker. There's nothing wrong with that. The problem was that he was all up on some chick, hugging her, kissing her, like you actually meant something to him. Don't get me wrong, you meant something to all of us, but if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't want Alonzo, or anybody for that matter, making out with some bitch, pretending to care just so that he could get a little pussy. I wonder if that fool got laid the night of your funeral. That stupid bastard bitch whore. I remember the day you left. I remember how quiet it was. No one talked. I also remember trying to hold back my tears. I mean I wasn't close to you, I barely knew you, what place do I have crying? I kept beating myself up because I felt guilty. I still do. I cry sometimes just thinking about you. I know it sounds gay and cliche and all, but you had so much more to live for. What could have been so bad that you had to take your own life? I guess the reason why I was hit so hard with the news of your passing was because I've been labled as the emotionally unstable, suicidal tendency go-to-guy. I guess I am. But after you left, I could never think the same again. You affected everyone. Close friends. Teachers. Strangers. Acquaintaces. You want to know what the funny thing was? The morning of April 18, 2002, just a few hours before we all found out about you, me, Homer, and Pat were talking about suicide. Pat and I were saying how people who commit suicide go to hell. Homer said they go to heaven. We talked a good 15 minutes, maybe more, just about life and all that other bullshit. Now, a year later, I'm starting to side with Homer. I wonder if things were different, would you still be gone. Would you still be an anonymous Servite alumnus? Would I still randomly cry over a person I barely knew? I wonder if you saw Eduardo's broken face when he heard, would you still have made that fatal decision. Those questions are never going to be answered because once I hear the name Abe or Gallardo, I think of you. I think of life. I think of death. Yeah, I know. That's pretty stupid. What's in a name? What the fuck am I even doing? I'm sorry if I've offended you with this whole entry. I barely knew you. I don't deserve to be missing you at this extent. I have to give you big ups though. This is my theory about suicide. Yeah, I have all these stupid fuck theories about everything but here it goes: Suicide "victims" (for lack of a better term) don't live for the past. They don't live for the future. They live for the right now, they live for the present. Their methods may be a little unorthodox but the end justifies the means. You could never really know a person. And maybe that's a good thing. I've been blessed with a good life, but fail to see it. And I hate myself for it. I thank you, Abe. For teaching a lesson in life that St. Irenaeus Elementary, Troy High, Servite High, or Cal State Northridge never could. We'll keep you in our prayers until we meet again. |
| Sincerely, Nathaniel Mecija |
| Abraham Gallardo October 3, 1984 - April 17, 2002 |