63.2% of Statistics Are Completely Made Up

About John

On November 23 rd , 2018, the day after Thanksgiving, John Vincent Kaplan took his own life. He was 43 years old. I met John in September of 1993 when I was 17 and he was 18. We had been set up by a mutual friend, upon whom he had a massive crush. Said friend basically just wanted to get him off her back. John was exactly what my silly adolescent mind considered to be perfect boyfriend material: he was beautiful (vaguely resembled Jim Morrison, his idol); he had the soul of a tortured poet; great singing voice, with a rock star swagger to match; we had the same taste in music, movies and books; we shared the same sick, inappropriate sense of humor. Needless to say, my dumb ass was smitten. We were doomed. It took more than two years for me to realize that I had to end our relationship, and another year and a half before I mustered up the courage to actually end it. By then I was 22 and not the same person I was when I was 17. At 23, John hadn’t changed since the day I met him. I...

Time Piece

I was given my first watch when I was 5 or 6 years old. The face featured a little girl with blond braids (Swiss Miss-like). The band was a kind of sea foam green shiny plastic; the kind of plastic that begs to be gnawed on, which I did. I loved having the watch because it made me feel grown up. I hated the watch itself because it was babyish. (I remember my brother, Andrew, trying to sell me on how cool and classy it was, once when I was lamenting over it. I wasn't impressed with his argument.) I'm not sure when it disappeared, or to where it disappeared, but I was missing it by the time I was ready to start college. I had only applied to one school. Bradford College was located in Haverhill, Ma, about 90 minutes north of Boston. A small liberal arts college, Bradford was founded in 1803 and closed its doors in 1998, the year I would have graduated, had I not made some poor choices. Haverhill wasn't exactly a happeni...

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