Finding The Balance- Part One, Chapter Two

Jack Patterson was a very charismatic individual, especially in the days of my youth. He was a floater, if you will. He was the most vicarious thing, most independent person. In reality, his life was spiraling downwards, at a rate he could control, but didn't. And he didn't let this effect him. He didn't let anything effect him. Maybe he should have. Maybe you shouldn't be completely numb.

The first time we met was when we were both eleven-years-old. I had moved from Mississippi two years prior, in the third grade, and had a hard time adjusting. With my hair-slicked to the side, in a collared shirt, with crooked teeth and an accent out of Talladega Nights, I was not a good fit for the Abercrombie and Fitch infested spoiled youth of Suburbia, Kansas. They were used to having things given to them. I had a better work ethic at nine than most of them ever developed. But that's what the south teaches, and I guess there's pro's and con's to both sides. I heard there's even pro's and con's to hitch hiking.

Sorry, I sometimes just go off on these tangents. It's good though. I don't think people should be restricted. Restrictions are a way for people to enclose and capture people. Regardless, we met at my first real Boy Scout summer camp. I say real, because I had gone to some before, but I went with my parents, and they basically are there to hold your hand and make sure you don't s**t yourself. The first time I met Jack Patterson was also the first night I smoked pot. His older brother, Jeffy, had some pretty good bud, and I was hanging with Jack that day. We both liked the band Tool, so I figured we should bunk together for the whole time we were there. His brother came and woke him up late that night, and he asked if I could tag along. Jeffy sort of put up a fight, but eventually gave in.

It was a magical night. We had to hike for a mile and a half, in the darkness, in the middle of the deadly woods, just to get high. And we had to be quiet too. I coughed so loudly I probably woke up every camper in a five mile radius. But I was high, and I didn't care. We sat up and made ridiculous animal noises for no reason and ate Hostess dankness. There isn't actually anything called Hostess "dankness". That's just how we talked when we were kids.

Jack and I had a lot in common. Sometimes we thought we were the same person just in different bodies with different situations. One time, during our senior year, while on one of the countless ecstasy binges, we both walked around town, all night, finishing each others sentences while chain smoking some Camel T*****s. I'm not sure why we called them Camel T*****s. We thought we were cool. But we were cool. Cool in a different sense though. The popular kids did have their own coolness about them, and they knew everybody. But that doesn't last. You can't be popular forever. We were different. We weren't a mold. Jack told me one time," You see, in five/ten years, there gonna be married to some bumfuck because they couldn't handle their partying in college, so they dropped out, and settled for a low end job, and will have a s****y life they never planned for. Us? We've always been doomed to be failures. So. Ultimately, when we fail, we'll be prepared. It won't hurt us. Cheers?" We clinked our Coors Light forty ounces and fell into self-submission.