Russell Edward Lane, Rest in Peace, Fellow Space Traveler...

I just got a phone call earlier from an old friend, Jay. He said my best friend, Russell, died yesterday. I didn't believe it at first. Jay has a habit of telling me evil lies, he had just recently told me Russ was a crackhead and a bunch of other dirty fibs. I got Russell's mom's number and called her. She filled me in on the details. It crushed me to hear her voice telling me all the things she told me. The worst part is that he and I had planned on getting together soon.
The whole thing is fucked up, really.
After high school, I had lived for a year with Russ and his mom. Somewhere in there afterwards, we'd had a falling out. On my 21st birthday, as a payback for a '90 Billy Idol show I'd treated him to, he took me to see PHISH, one of the best shows I've ever done in my life! After '93, we had only seen each other once, and very briefly. We were headed completely different directions in life, and a long parting seemed unspokenly necessary. Around a month or so ago, I had gotten a hit from Jay on my myspace page, talked to him, and filched Russell's number off him to call. We talked for several hours, and it seemed like our friendship had never even been on hiatus at all. Emails ensued.
We are talking at least ten fucking years here!
We were supposed to get together in the old house we lived at and do it up right one more time. He still lived there. That's how fucking cool he was. All the teenage things you go through in life, he and I stonily trudged onwards, dropping hits, rolling the Octabellifonioctic helma, smoking em like there was no tomorrow, and wriggling our bodies to the bodacious fingerings and string pluckings of Jerry-Bear and gang.
His funeral is on Sunday in Springfield and he will be cremated afterwards. I'm so bummed about the whole thing right now. The cruel gods are conspiring against me. Every possible happy futuristic plans I have to straighten out the wrongs in my life keep crashing and burning.
So the best friend of mine all throughout high school and beyond, the one who rolled our daily fatties from one end of high school to the other, the buddy who trippingly flailed next to me at dead shows, and shared many a plate of Springfield style cashew chicken and Burger King chicken sandwiches in silence is gone. Although I
DO feel we had mended any broken bridges and repaired a long stagnating friendship, I feel like we were robbed of a renewed, stronger bond.
Now I get to go to his funeral...
For you, buddeh, I am smoking this fattie, and jamming to the Terrapin Station cd. I would break my near 3 year sobriety to clink a St. Pauley Girl dark with ye right now. I know you are hanging with Jerry, and Frank, and Jimi, and so many others. Put a bottle of Stolichnaya in the freezer for me. I'll get there eventually...
Hope it's pretty fucking chilled by that time!
Got an amigo/amiga you haven't seen or heard from in forever? What a reason not to be late...
R.I.P. Russ