Kentucky-born Hunter S. Thompson was a chromatic character. Until this week, though, my familiarity with him was limited to my Godson Chris' homage of the guy's work; an old paperback of "The Curse of Lono" on my nightstand; and scant knowledge of his unconventional friendship with his fellow Kentuckian Johnny Depp (their relationship began with Depp blowing up propane tanks in Thompson's yard, and ended with the actor bankrolling the writer's request to have his ashes shot out of a cannon). I became a little more familiar with Thompson this past week when my friends Vijay Dias and Chapman Montgomery hung out with me at Bellewood on Tuesday evening. Seems Chapman is a long-time Gonzo fan (Gonzo is the name given to Thompson's style of journalism), and Vijay actually has a tie to the guy--a friend of his was Thompson's best friend and the last person the writer called before he took his life. That tie, of course, accentuated the stories on Tuesday evening, on my front lawn sipping bourbon, about a guy who lived life pretty much as it was presented to him, allowing few into his world, and labeling even fewer "friend." Anyway... in white adirondack chairs beneath a dogwood-filtered moon under which we puffed Vijay's Indian bidis, we friends did what friends do, and pontificated Depp and Thompson, Bollywood, international soccer, x-relationships and, in part, each's colorful journey from boy to man.
Out of the millions we happen upon in our lifetime, I wonder what sparks the connection to just a few? What makes a friendship elastic enough to bend to our complex lives, and enduring enough to withstand cracks and avoid breaks? Depp and Thompson found synergy in their Kentucky roots, their friendship energized by the coming together of two eccentrics from the same part of the world--even with no particular fondness for said part of the world. My friends Vijay and Chapman have a durable bond, for years resistant to geography, girlfriends and simple routine. And Chris and I have a bond that remains solid, unyielding to three decades of class projects, puberty, rock bands and his recent marriage.
I can't help but query what attracts my friends to me? My pal Adam once described me as "an amazing mess of misunderstood." I'm pretty selfish when it comes to my day. And I rarely carve out quality time with my friends and, when I do, I'm generally preoccupied and focused on everything other than them--easily irritated and patience thin. It's odd, really, that so many accept me for who I am, swallowing the quirks, mis-wiring and erratic behavior that comes with me -- my "gifts with purchase," if you will. :)
To better understand my quirky self and my own friendships under the scrutiny of philosophers, I recently read "Emerson and Thoreau: Figures of Friendship". The book defines how the two friends not only wrote about friendship, but the lengths to which they went to affirm it, always recognizing it's potential as a source for deep pain. In an environment that recklessly affirms friends with the click of a button (guilty), the book solidified for me the importance of driving friendships past surface, distinguishing heavily between the "ideal" friend and the "actual" person. My take (and I enjoyed the read): I can't even be what "I" want to be, much less what my friends want me to be. :)
The next evening following our night of pontification, just before dinner at Chapman's, Vijay stepped out of the room for a few minutes and returned with a t-shirt. "I have something for your Godson," he said, handing over a worn black t with writing on its backside. "This was a gift directly from Hunter to my friend," he said, "I think Chris would like it." I agreed, and arranged for a surprise gift-give the next day.
The following day at The Village Anchor when the two met for the first time, Vijay presented the t-shirt to Chris. I watched an unsuspecting bond begin to materialize as Vijay shared his own experience with Hunter S. Thompson; Chris clinging to the words. At the heart of this was a moment that probably happens a hundred times a day for each of us, that I know I fail to acknowledge. Like this morning at coffee when a young woman asked the meaning of my tattoo; yesterday afternoon at the restaurant when a customer invited me to sit by her pool; or just a few minutes ago when I asked the guy next to me what he was reading. I wonder what it is that would have inspired one of these chance meetings to advance to even the slightest of friendship? And I wonder what it is that kept me from doing so?
I wonder, too, if Vijay and Chris have friended each other on Facebook.
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