#this fucker started exploring the country under a fake name

[chilltouch]

Sometimes I still think abt my pirate wizard and how I had to Hard pivot on the personality I originally gave them of being cheerful and jokey to Anxious and Depressed bc in my fugue state where i wrote my longest backstory ever for a character (at the time) I killed off half their crew which forced them into a position of leader at 16.

And then made them abdicate that position bc the weight of leadership was weighing them down Too Much

[biggy-habes]

Jonny Haber’s Day Off (Part II)

I woke up the next day feeling refreshed. At peace. The exact opposite of the previous morning. I had the entire day ahead of me. In the back of my mind the dread of returning to work the next day lingered. I felt like I had to make the most of today. So I grabbed some hiking gear and loaded Fennie up in the backseat. We were heading to Letchworth Park. For those not familiar with this area, Letchworth is a state park about an hour away. It is respectfully known as the Grand Canyon of the East. The Genesee River cuts through it, creating beautiful cascading waterfalls. The weather was sunny and mild and perfect for a long hike. Still lethargic from yesterday's walk through the trails, Fennie slept practically the entire drive. But once we arrived at the entrance to the park, he perked up. As we drove through the winding turns, he kept his nose out the window. He could not wait to explore these new smells! I decided to start at the Lower Falls and work our way up. The trail leading to the river was a decent 3/4 mile hike. When we got to the water, Fennie started to pull hard. Now he has never been much of a fan of water. You would think that taking a bath was worse than when his nuts got snipped. He created a scene at the pet store that I take him for his baths. It was like he wanted the store employees to think that I waterboard him. For the record, I DO NOT WATERBOARD FENNIE! He just hates water! He makes the most pathetic look when he has to go as far as to go pee in the rain. But for some reason he REALLY wanted to check out this friggin water! The flowing river created waves on the shore that he felt were a threat and he needed to bite the SHIT out of them! He would never get in above his knees. Dogs DO have knees, don't they? Well, anyways, that is where the water was. But he would dip his face in the water in order to bite the crest of the waves. And I sat there watching him, and thought to myself "You malingering ASSHOLE!"

As we started venturing back, I started to remember how a group of us rugby players would head to an area like this in Stony Brook for the day to cook some meat and drink cheap beers. And it dawned on me that I was not too far from where I went to college. I haven't stepped foot in that area since I was still in the service. Fennie was starting to slow down and was panting pretty hard, so I felt that perhaps we could save the rest of the trails for another time. Instead, let's take a trip down memory lane. I always remember the drive to Alfred being peaceful and serene. College was a very confusing time for me and I would use the drive to contemplate my wants out of life. Driving through the farmland brought back the familiar country smell. Soon I could see the white steeple signifying that I was entering Alfred Station. I passed the banquet hall where the rugby team had their social. Past the packie that would sell me gallons of Skol vodka despite my shitty fake ID. Past the hill that I had to climb to get to my dorm at Alfred U. I came up to the old Delta Sig house,  which has since been taken over and painted pink. I banged a right and entered the campus that contained 2 of the greatest years of my life. Alfred State. Home of the muthafuckin PIONEERS! 

As I drove around the loop of the campus, the memories came in waves. The 77 steps leading to Peet Hall...a treacherous hike for any drunken resident. The gymnasium where I had decided to "toss the gloves" during an intramural hockey game and, not aware at the time that my target was on the wrestling team, I proceeded to get suplexed onto the floor. At the top of the hill stood the Mackenzie dorms. This is was my turf from 1997-1999. This is where I went through 4 roommates. This is where I met my good friend Ed (oh there will be more on Eddie in later stories. He is a character!) And this was where my friendship with Johnny ("Tits") and Matt ("Squirrel") began. After reminiscing for a bit I walked over to the track, location of the annual Naked Mile. I ran this twice. First time was as a rookie on the rugby team. All rookies were expected to run it. The 2nd time…well, that was just for shits and giggles. Young Haber LOVED to get drunk and run around naked! After walking around for a little bit I left Alfred State and decided that it was time to pay a visit to the old rugby field. Now you will notice that I mention rugby a lot in this story. Well, this is because rugby played a significant role in my college life. I have never been known for my athleticism. My grandfather was a 3 sport athlete at Boston College and went on to play a year as a center in the NFL. I inherited his size and his passion, but the athletic gene unfortunately did not get passed down to me. In High School I played football, taking the position that brought my grandfather fame. Although I was a Varsity starter both my Junior and Senior years, I will never be known as a stand-out player and the name "Haber" will never be uttered in the halls of Greece Arcadia. When I went to college, I had tossed around the idea of trying to make a spot on the football practice squad. But it never blossomed into more than that. One night, while waiting in line for a beer at the TG house, a large group of loud, brash guys in purple jackets walked straight in and went up the stairs to the 2nd floor with arms filled with beer. I did not know who they were, but they seemed like the kind of guys that I wanted to be part of. As they walked past me, I read the back of their bright purple jackets and in bold white lettering it read "ALFRED RUGBY". I followed them upstairs, where they gathered around a keg and proceeded to drink like there was no tomorrow. One of them, just a bit larger than myself and wearing a backwards purple hat, had been challenged to a chugging contest. When he heard the word "Go", he pinched his cup and in one complete gulp he finished his beer. I had never seen anything like that! So after he collected his High 5s from the other ruggers I went up to talk to him. I cannot tell you exactly what was said, but I remember telling him that I wanted to see what this whole "rugby" thing was all about. He told me to show up to practice on Monday. On the front of his beer-covered jacket in white stitching was the name "BooBoo". I give this guy credit for introducing me to one of the greatest experiences of my life. Now, just like with football, I was not a GREAT rugby player. I was big enough to play on the front row, but again, I would never describe myself as "athletic". Despite the fact that my conditioning was shit and my balance was on the same level as a 4 year old, my heart and my grit got me a position as a starter as a rookie. Now, let me tell you, being a rookie on the rugby team was tough! You come to rely on the bonds that you create with your fellow rookies. This is where I really became close friends with Tits and Squirrel.

 I started driving towards the outskirts of Alfred towards Jericho Hill, where the rugby field was. I drove past the practice field, where I was able to imagine all of us scrimmaging. Punk would be running into a crowd of bodies, turning to scream "GET THE FUCK UP HERE AND RUCK IT OVER, YOU FUCKERS!!!". Mild-mannered BooBoo would become possessed and would run through anyone brave enough to stand in his way. And Squirrel would be way out at the opposite end of the field, dropping any kick that would come his way. Jesus CHRIST he had some hands of stone! I turned down the gravel road leading up to the game field, and eventually I was able to see the purple covering of the goal posts. I let Fennie out of the car and as we started to walk around the field, I recalled me getting my ears taped on the sidelines. Me stepping foot on the pitch for my first rugby game. All of the hits. All of the scrums. All of the sweat and blood that soaked into the soil. The sound that is made when large bodies violently collide. The smell of mud, body odor, and processed alcohol seeping from pores filling the air. And then, a feeling of sadness and grief overcame me as I started to think about my friend Squirrel. It was time to pay him a visit. I have gone to see him since the funeral. I wiped the tears from my eyes and headed back to the car. It was coming up on 4:30. Plenty of time to go see my old friend.

 Mattie lived his entire life in the small town of Owego, NY. All his life he had wanted to follow in the footsteps of his father and be a firefighter. I cannot tell you the number of times he would turn down an all-night binger because he was on call for the Volunteer Campus EMS. However, when he was not required to stay sober, he seldom was. Squirrel was loud and obnoxious, but he could easily become the life of the party. I never really saw him get angry. He was cool and easy going. Together, him and I wreaked havoc on Tits, never missing an opportunity to cut him down or pull a prank on him. One day we trapped him in a broom closet and proceeded to blow baby powder under the door until he agreed to go to the Rugby House (aka "The Alamo") for a party. He LOVED finding ways to get in trouble. He was not a very big guy, but that never stopped him from constantly talking shit. After leaving a party at TG (we spent A LOT of time there!!) he passed someone passing by with his girlfriend wearing a baggy white dress shirt. Squirrel turned and shouted "Hey, Jerry Seinfeld! Nice puffy shirt, ASSHOLE!" 

Squirrel's weakness was women. After hooking up with a girl at St. Bonaventure, her and her friend decided to make an impromptu visit. Later that night they took turns writing some of the funniest, most hateful shit in Sharpie on his door he had ditched her at a party. We spent the rest of the night scrubbing his door clean. After graduation we had all gone our separate ways, but we still managed to keep in touch. A couple of years later we met back up to play in the Alfred Rugby alumni game. As the years passed, the conversations became sparser. Squirrel went on to become a firefighter like he had always dreamed about. He became a husband and a father. When The Facebook became big we were able to reconnect and would share stories of our lives or talk about old memories. When Amanda and I were planning our wedding, Mattie was talking about flying to the Keys to attend the ceremony. And when all of that came crashing down, he would call me to make sure that I was hanging in there. I took one last look at the field that contained so many terrific memories. There will always be places where you just feel a sense of peace and reflection. It is a bit ironic that the pitch that hosted such ferocity on Saturdays would become such a place of contentment. As it turns out, another place of mine is the Arcadia football field house. When I would have my crackups in my 20s, my friend Schworm would always know that if I went missing, that is where he could find me. Anyways, I had to go. It was time to go pay my old friend a visit.

After Amanda and I split up I had taken a job in North Carolina. Still reeling from the difficult breakup, I had walked into the basement of the Research Department on a chilly, dreary day and sat down to take a few minutes to catch up on Facebook when I heard about Squirrel. There was a post regarding a fire in Owego during the night. There was a casualty. But no. It couldn't have been him. But I am sure that he must be pretty shaken up. I should probably try and reach out to him. Before I got the chance to, I was interrupted by a message from an old mutual friend, Wendy. Matt and Wendy grew up together. She let me know that the casualty was Squirrel. It did not process at first. That couldn't be right! He was a good firefighter! He was had a family! But then the reality started to set in. I went in to the office of the head of my department and explained what had happened and that I needed a couple of days off. That night I packed a suitcase, asked my father to let me borrow $200, and I drove through the night to New York. I shared a room at a run down Red Roof Inn with my friend Ed (my suite mate from college. Man, I cannot WAIT to get more into him some other time! He is a goddamn character!) So anyways, the next day me and Ed, who had become a volunteer firefighter and was decked out in his uniform, met up for breakfast with Tits and shared old stories over some eggs and bacon. I have not seen Ed in a few years, and Johnny for at least 20. We carried on like nothing had changed. We were missing the loud voice and dramatic flair of Squirrel. 

Now when I tell you that Mattie had died a hero, I am not sure if you quite understand. He was a loved and cherished member of his community. He had a tight group of friends. He did all that Dad shit. But he NEVER let that part of him that made HIM get away. He was still known for drinking a bit too much shitty beer and run his mouth any chance that he got. Owego is a very small town, and I think that everyone in that town was present to say their "Goodbyes" to Matt. There were Police, EMS, and Firefighters from Syracuse all the way to Pennsylvania there to pay their respects to their fallen brother. There were so many people there for his Last Call that they filled the auditorium and streamed it in the Gymnasium so that everyone was able to be present. The occasion was somber but the ceremonial pageantry was breathtaking. Squirrel had the tendency to be a bit of an asshole. But this was the ceremony that Mattie deserved. My old friend is my fucking hero. I love and I miss the fuck out of that guy!

I pulled into St. Patrick's Cemetery, and the part of me that grew up Catholic turned off the radio out of respect for the souls. It was not hard for me to find Matt's gravestone. Fennie was wiped out from all of the walking the past 2 days and he was perfectly content with sleeping in the backseat. I sat down in front of the gravestone marked Matthew Porcari. I talked to him like 19 year old Whimpy would talk to his fucking homey Squirrel. I caught him up on my life. I told him funny stories. About the death of my dad. And how I was struggling trying to cope with my grandmother's passing. And how much I fucking missed him. How I wanted to be sitting at a bar sharing these stories. I will never find a friend like him. He had the ability to be a complete jackass. But he was the guy that made you laugh and knew just what to say when life took a shit on you. He was the guy that would make sure that all of his buddies had a great time. He will always be my brother. I shed a few tears, and saw that the sun was starting to go down. I had a good 2 hour drive back to Rochester, so it was time to say "Goodbye" and that I would see him soon. 

By the time we got home Fennie and I were beyond exhausted. I had to return to work the next day. I was not sure what sort of reaction I would face. Despite the need for the time off to reflect on what has been happening in my life, I felt guilty for making my coworkers pick up the slack of my little break. And to be honest, I was embarrassed! A mental breakdown is never pretty. And to have it take place in your workplace, ON A GODDAMN CRISIS LINE, is not very cool. But when I got back to work, it was just another day. There were a few people who pulled me aside to ask if I was OK. And I truly appreciate that. I have to be honest, I work with an INCREDIBLE group of people. They were completely understanding. They could not believe that I was able to take all of this and still show up to work and do my job. I have been conditioned to take what life throws at me and find a way to absorb it and keep moving forward. However I never gave myself an opportunity to address it all. But being outside and in nature, just myself and my best friend-slash-companion-slash-Ryde or Die, it gave me a chance to process all that has happened and all that I have to look forward to. I did not take turning 40 very well. But it is gone. I am now looking at 41. It is time to figure out a way to get back to living. L-I-V-I-N-'. It is time to evaluate my relationships and my role in them. It is time to figure out the person that I am wanting to be. I have seen a lot of unbelievable people fade out of my life and a lot of them are never coming back. Some of them I can only talk to in spirit. I am not promised another 10 years. I am not promised another year. Is this the kind of person that I want to be remembered for? And if not, then what I am going to have to do to get to that person?