Jeremy Died

I was getting ready to package this book and realized I forgot to mention someone important and something important about them. Jeremy Lee Harper was a good man. Jeremy Lee Harper was my best good friend.  

Jeremy Harper wasn’t dumb—he had a head injury. He had a bunch of injuries acurately described as “Catastrophic.” 

Jeremy said and did some dumb stuff from time to time. Half of that was the head injuries, the other half was him clumsily overcoming how beautifully shy and empathetic he was. Jeremy was a blood-drinking Devil Dog, but when not at work, he was an absolute sweetie.

Jeremy and I had zero romantic connection or inclination. To him, I was just another straight buddy on a dry spell–back then I assumed as much too. Jeremy was, however, my beautiful semi-abusive house husband for about seven or eight years. Half of it was the head injury. I’ll bet you the other half of the abuse came from his shyness too. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to say some things or feel some things, so he had to feel around them; he had to express around them. 

Shit happens and I’m honestly not mad at him. I was honestly not that mad at him when he swiped more than $10k. I was pretty upset when he killed my cat and broke into my apartment. I miss him every day. I keep that cat’s cremated remains on the mantle like the others. I think about that money every few years. 

I still miss him every day. If he were here I’d be up to my neck in apology cats and rolling in dough. That would all pale in comparison to getting that laugh in my living room one more time. 

When I moved into this new home, when I had achieved the goal we had set out together so long ago, I curled up in bed clutching his uniform and cried myself to sleep in big heaving sobs. 

I wish he was still here giving me bad tips on worse schemes, or just laughing at surprising parts of movies. Everything he did was accidentally a story. 

Those of you who didn’t know may be surprised that not only was Jeremy a fun-loving goofball, but he was a heavy gunner in an infantry fire team. He got his arm hacked open by a Filipino farmer. He had a Taiwanese prostitute lick his eyeball. He protected me more than he ever hurt me. It only ever stuck because he was good at it. An expert. It hurts to get poked by them fellas.

He was kind for a very long time but grew bitter. Whenever he was making strides in his recovery someone would always step in and tell him God made him a piece of shit and he should go back to being a piece of shit.

He was never—well, he was at times. I have been and will be again. But never in the way that he had imagined. Like God had sat around with an etch-a-sketch planning each of these pachinko falls down hell’s mountain of needles. 

Over here is where he watches his mom try out suicide for funsies in the kitchen. Over here is where the dryer vent is attached to a Marine’s gasmask who passes out and dies. 

Oh, I can’t skip the bit about helicopters.

That time he was fastroping all day in the Pacific heat and slipped on the last one. Fell 70 ft, hit hard top, bounced, died, and waited to be brought back to life by Hospital Corpsmen and tape.  

I could tell stories about the two of us popping pills. I could tell stories of him swiping my pills. I could tell the story of me cutting him out of my life so he’d stop fucking with my drug supply. I could tell you Jeremy died and how but I bet you guessed a lot already.

I’ll leave you with this. Jeremy Lee Harper was a devoted American. It didn’t matter what shade of green you were, Jeremy was there to fight for your right to party. He was dedicated to not being a problem for others when he could. He was equally dedicated to being a problem for others when he was called upon.

Jeremy was an adorable, kind, and passionate problem that you assign to your bigger problems. Even when God himself threatened to wipe the smile off his face, I know Jeremy still smiled every goddamned day—including his last.

I also know he’d be fussy about me wording it like that, but he’d love it too. I can tell you as an old monk and minister, Jeremy was one of the best Christians I’ve ever known. Not because of how much he hated himself, but because of how much he loved absolutely everyone else.