I was thirteen years old. My mom just moved in with her new boyfriend in Anchorage, Alaska, and of course, I was drug along. Alaska... I couldn't believe I was in Alaska; the land of polar bears and igloos. I sat on my new bed looking at the wall. My new wall. My new room was basically a closed-in hallway; the only entrance to the garage, but it was mine. Shortly, I was introduced to my mom's boyfriend's son, Matt. He was in his room listening to some kind of fast music and drawing something. I couldn't believe it, a real live punk rocker... I'd never been that close to one before.

"Hey dude."
"Hey, how's it goin'?"
In just a few months, the transformation was complete. I turned from a fat, nerdy kid that liked D&D and Nintendo into a punk rocker that listened to "Black Flag" and spraypainted my own clothes. Needless to say, Matt and I weren't included in too many family pictures. The next summer was my first real encounter with alcohol. It was Matt, a couple of friends, and me vs. a bottle of Black Velvet. The Black Velvet won. I woke up the next morning fully clothed with vomit crusted on my boots and only a few scattered memories of the night before. I wanted more, and more I got. Things started going downhill from there in my new little family. My mom's psychologist couldn't find any answers, Matt got thrown out, my mom's boyfriend stopped calling me a fat ass and started calling me a freak, and eventually I was shoved into a foster home for "falling down the stairs." (A teacher had asked where the bruises came from, and it was the only excuse I could think of. A friend later reported that there were no stairs in my house).

The foster home wasn't too horrible, but I had never seen so many animals outside a zoo before. To the best of my memory there were three dogs, ten cats, three birds, two ferrets, and a mess of fish. My new foster parents were nice enough, they were a couple of hippies that never quite left the 60's and I thought they smoked way too much pot. (It was legal to smoke marijuana in Alaska back then). I spent about a year there and was allowed to move back home. That lasted another two weeks. I can't remember how the fight started, but it didn't really matter; I had my bag packed and I headed down the road before the cops could show up this time.

That basically happened off and on until early '91 when something weird happened. The whole scene dropped out of existence; well, as far as I could tell. Everyone was evicted from the house we were staying in (about fifteen people in a one-bedroom hovel) and things were looking tough. No one to hang out with, no one to drink with; it seemed that the good times had finally come to an end. I was homeless for about a month when the decision came. I hadn't eaten in a couple days and somehow a delicious looking blueberry muffin had come into my possession. I sat on the railing of a bridge crossing over a creek. It was beautiful, the sun was just going down. I reached for the muffin and unwrapped it, it was one of those big ones that are so moist and gooey. As I brought the muffin to my mouth, it brushed against my bottom lip and disaster struck. I watched in horror as the muffin split in two and fell into the creek. I snapped. That was too much and I left the state almost immediately. It's funny how a muffin can do such a thing. I traveled to Portland, Oregon, and found misery. I traveled to Seattle, Washington, and found betrayal. I wasn't winning no matter where I went. I was getting sick of everything and everybody.

I got homesick pretty fast (if Anchorage could be called home), and about the summer of '92, I headed back to Anchorage and moved in with some friends, threw in the punk rock towel, and became a rudy. (Yeah, I admit it, I wore a suit). I started listening to stuff like "The Specials" and "English Beat." All of a sudden, there were people to hang out with again; new faces, new places, and of course, there was the alcohol. That lasted about six months and only a blur of black and white remained. With the help of a friend, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and did the right thing. I was soon acting like a self-respectable punk rocker again.

I spent the next year or so bumming around, working wherever and whenever, doing whatever for whoever I could, all while watching my friends come and go. School was no longer an option and it was about time for a change. I started thinking, "What am I gunna do with the rest of my life?" We all think that sometime or another. That's when I joined Job Corps. What a horrible, horrible thing it was too. I spent seven months of pure hell trapped on an abondoned naval base surrounded by barbed wire. It was in Astoria, Oregon, no less. I put up with it, though. I put up with the constant rainfall, the hard work, and all the abbreviations. They had abbreviations for everything. You'll notice that all government programs will abbreviate anything if they possibly can. At least I got my G.E.D.

Two weeks before I left Job Corps I was at a show with some friends of mine, all of us drunk. We were all graduating at the same time, so it couldn't have been more perfect. Towards the end of the show, I was approached by a girl who asked me a lot of questions. She eventually asked me about Alaska, so I told her. Mystery Girl said she wanted to come with me. I laughed. I was drunk and she was probably looney. The day I was ready to leave Job Corps, security notified me that I had a visitor at the front gate. It was Mystery Girl with a plane ticket in her hand. I couldn't believe she was actually serious.

Two years later, I lost Mystery Girl and spent the next two years, until now, drinking myself to oblivion and traveling around the U.S. hopping trains or hitch-hiking wherever I felt I needed to go; trying to forget something I really couldn't remember anyway.

I've recently stopped drinking so much and now enjoy it for what it is; a few beers and a laugh or two with some friends. Every now and again I'll look into that beer and wonder where the good times went, where all my old friends have gone off to and what they're doing now; not really wondering what I'm running from, but where I'm running to.



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