By Ecklebob Chiselfritz
Mark was my best friend when I was sixteen. For a time he had a girlfriend named Barb. I knew Barb before she and Mark became an item because she was one of the cadre of girls we ran around and partied with. I remember she really, really, really, really liked Grace Slick of the Jefferson Airplane. Other than that I don't remember too much about her.
I don't remember how I met Pete.
I do remember kicking his older brother Tom's ass one night, but I don't remember why.
Given another night and different circumstances he probably could have kicked my ass.
Whatever.
Me and Pete got along fairly well and drank a lot of beer and smoked a lot of dope together.
I would play poker with Pete, Tom and a couple other guys occassionaly. Small stakes. I was there more for the alcohol and dope than the love of the game. One time we were playing cards and having a blast. Very casually Pete pulls out a kit and proceeds to hit himself up with heroin. I stay cool while watching this, but I was horrified. I mean we all did a lot of different drugs. We were young and bullet proof. I was no angel, but needles were not among the toys I played with. Nor was heroin.
Well, Pete passes the shit over to his brother Tom and he partakes of the shit using the same needle. By this time I'm ready to jet. These fuckers are too crazy for me. Tom finishes up...and passes the rig to Andre who is more than ready for his turn using the same needle as Pete and Tom have already used.
I'm out of there and I believe that was the last time I ever saw Pete.
Flash forward almost fifteen years to around 1991...
Me and Mark drifted apart years ago. Apparently so did he and Barb because I heard her and Pete married and had three kids.
I'm married with three kids. I'm working too much. Drinking too much. And my marriage is on the rocks limping toward an inevitable conclusion.
I'm getting ahead of myself here.
Did I mention Barb stabbed Pete to death in 1989?
I had heard about it, but really gave it no thought because I was so wrapped up in all the misery I was creating in my own life.
I'm out in the street unloading and carrying my family's possessions into a rental duplex because we moved a lot in those days.
A car slows down and I hear a female voice call my name. I turn around and it's Barb. I was kind of shocked because I thought she was in jail for killing Pete, but lo and behold she's not. Actually she lives three doors down from the place I'm moving into. We lived in that duplex for two years and I never saw Barb again after that first time.
I had assumed she had just gone off the deep end and murdered Pete because both of them were whacked out on drugs. I hadn't given it any thought because as I alluded to earlier. My life was a mess and I was too wrapped up in myself to give a damn about people I hadn't seen for years.
I don't know what possessed me to think about Pete and Barb after so many years. I Googled their names today and now I feel shame for not taking time to reach out to Barb and at least offer a shoulder for her to cry on when she probably would have appreciated it.
April 27, 1989
Chicago Tribune
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