I’m going to try and tell a story the blog today. This one goes in rememberance of my dear friend Megan.
The two of us spent a lot of time at the school studying after classes. Well… I studied. She hung around finding ways to stay entertained. She did that mostly by socializing with the crowds in some odd way or another. That became the reason why we snooped around the school going to campus activities, meeting many new friends, and spending time with the friendly clubs.
During the semester, Megan introduced me to her friend Irish. Irish was the thirty something year-old homeless man who hung around in the pedestrian tunnels across from the school. He was a solid guy, but was in really rough shape and dealt with hard drug addiction. The two of them were surprisingly good pals. She took him out on activities – which made me nervous at first.
One freezing afternoon in February, Megan and I were in the Hall of Flags at the school. She texted Irish telling him come inside and not freeze to death. He must’ve wandered in without saying ‘what’s up’ because we more or less forget about telling him. So probably like an hour later Megan looked up from her phone and darted off, presumably to check on our homeless guy. I kept on studying, but about 20 minutes later Megan called me saying to come over to the bathrooms because something was the matter with Irish. She said he was in the bathroom and he was not okay. When I got there, Irish was stumbling out of the stall, very high and strung out looking. He was sweating everywhere, eyes bloodshot red, and he rambling on. My intention was to get him outside before the campus police came, but they literally walked in right behind me. Well, they had us out in the hallways trying to settle the dispute because Megan and I were trying to tell the officers to let him go with us After taking Irish’s information and making sure he didnt need an ambulance, they escorted Irish outside and had us take him off campus. What happens next is what I cant forget.
In was pretty damn chilly outside but we walked Irish back toward the tunnel where Irish sat on the step and the three of us had a smoke. Irish was still pretty high and sweaty but we had to give him a little pep talk about not getting high in public bathrooms. Irish told us that he’d been high for the entire weekend (it was monday), and he hadn’t slept for days.
He was really low, I mean the poor guy was just hanging his head and wouldn’t look up. He was embarrassed too. Meg sat next to him for only a minute before he put his head on her shoulder and cried. She let him.
After Megan died and before her funeral, I couldn’t find Irish. I didnt have his number either. He would’ve wanted to know about Megan. She really took care of him and he appreciated it. I always remember that story when I think about Megan’s charisma. She was like that. Truth be told, she was friends with a lot of “outcasts” and “misfits”. She was friends with the kind of people who’ve been judged poorly by their appearances and social status. I remind myself of that example. Thank you.
Cover art by Caryn Feeney