Chapter 17

I just wish they would have let me bring my guitar.

I begged.

I talked with Joe in Portland on the phone a few times about this and the answer was always no. I play every day and I can't imagine going a month without playing. I understand why they won't.

I would do nothing else.

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I started playing at age 12. I have always loved to sing and I felt like I needed something to go along with that. A piano is a little hard to carry around so guitar was the best option.

I didn't get serious about it until I got to college.

Guitar, not drugs.

I met a guy in college named Joel who was the most brilliant musician I had ever met. He could play guitar better than anyone I had ever heard. He could write amazing music. He was a Pastors Kid, a "PK". He was an addict. I think we were drawn to each other like a moth to flame.

We started playing in a band together. We started doing a lot of drugs together. I have an amazing amount of memories with Joel. He had a VW bus that we took on a cross country road trip. We had so much acid and weed. We traveled ten states in ten days.

We tripped hard in the Grand Canyon.

We hiked into the Grand Canyon really high on acid and the walls of the canyons were like waterfalls.

Joel got clean and sober out of college. Our band ceased to exist. I moved back my parents house while I figured out what I wanted to do with my life and for a short period Joel lived with us.

He was heavily involved in AA. I would attend my first meeting with him.

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I started playing guitar in a Mexican restaurant after college. It was a party restaurant and I was the "Captain", the guy who was responsible for all the music and the entertainment. Part of the job was always being full of energy. Cocaine made this possible.

There was a couple different cooks and busboys that were dealers. It was so easy. I was making so much money in tips that it made a daily Coke habit possible.

I cut more lines in that place then I care to remember. Half of the staff were addicts or alcoholics. It comes with the business.

After work we would all go out drinking.

One big party. Every night.

I was living with my parents and they were getting progressively worried about me. I don't think they really knew how bad it was but they knew I was drinking a lot. I had to get out of that house.

I crashed my truck a couple of times. Wasted.

The first time was something I will never forget. Haunts me in my dreams. Late night drinking with the crew. I get in my truck as I always do. I am a drinking and driving nightmare. You can't pry my keys away from me.

I am bulletproof.

I don't remember exactly what happened. I am driving. Fast. Blurred. I don't even hit the brakes when I see the red light I just feel the impact.

I slammed that car all the way through the intersection. They were sitting at the red light and I slammed them all the way through the intersection.

I didn't see them.

I drove away.

I check the paper for weeks after to see if I killed them. To see if I ruined someone's life. I find nothing. My mind runs too many scenarios to count.

How do I ever make amends for this?

The guilt is overwhelming.

It doesn't stop me.

I crash my car again a month later. I was at an outdoor concert. Handfuls of mushrooms, acid, Jagermeister... The whole bottle.

I passed out a mile away from my parents home and drive my truck off a hairpin corner. The impact is enough to break my axles. No seatbelt.

Not a scratch.

Divine Intervention.

I run home and wake my parents. My father drives me to my truck and takes one look at it and just says "Oh my God."

No police.

Slack.

He wakes me the next morning and wants to know if I am on drugs. He is terrified. My Naval Commander Father is terrified. I tell him that I am.

For the first time in my life I see my Father cry.