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shoemakers kids have no shoes

2003-12-13 - 7:00 p.m.

My friend Birtram in college was a really laid back, mellow kid. He was more of an introspective guy from Brooklyn, quiet, he never raised his voice above a two, and as far as I knew he didn't have any enemies. I found out when my parents came to visit me one weekend, that my mother knew his father, because they were both psychoanalysts and they went to the same institute. I think Bitram was embarrassed of his father because he was researching some stuff his son was uncomfortable with. My mother thought it was great, "Hey hey, Birtram. You're father's a big shot, doing a talk next week at the institute. Are you going to go?" Nope, he wasn't going, his father was doing a talk on the masturbation/asphyxiation phenomena, where the person ends up killing themselves; I know it has a more professional name, but what is it.

I thought it was pretty interesting subject matter . Birt's Dad tried to get into it and Birt cut him off, double time. THAT'S - ok Dad, no I DON'T- want to talk about it. He turned red and hid out the rest of the year. I tried to talk to him about it but he would always change the subject.

The other kid I knew that had an analyst parent was a great writer, but a heroin addict. It didn't manifest as much until later in life, and I tried unsuccessfully to get him to give me some. He said no, even though I offered to buy it that day. I was sober 90 days at the time, and I figured it would be good for me to do it now while I was still green and newly clean. He said absolutely not, I'm not turning you on to this. I thought but I'm paying, what kind of addict are you?

We were going to start an analyst kid's group at school because we were feeling like someone should. There was one other guy but he didn't talk much, and no one could understand his extensive vocabulary. We got as far as sitting in the cafeteria late at night and bitching about being analyzed all the time. Then we laughed and said fuck it who cares.

A few years later when I moved to the west coast I looked up my heroin friend, and he said he was moving here too, with his fiance. He was actually sober, and I told him that the only reason I was straight was because he refused to get me anything that day. I told him to call me when he got here.

I got an email a few months later and the subject was "Jesse's memorial." His girl emailed me later that he had committed suicide and that he was on drugs. I emailed her and her family the story of how he prevented me from getting high that day, and I told a friend or two about him.

Maybe we should've had that group.

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