The other night I was up late after catching up on some work and took a stroll through Facebook. I don't know what triggered it, but I decided to look up an old friend's obituary. Instead of finding anything about him, I found that his dad had passed away just weeks ago. I searched like a stalker through family members' Facebook pages hoping that one of them had posted a picture of my old friend. Somewhere in a forgotten photo album, I'm sure I have one, but at that time, for some unknown reason, I just wanted to see my friend's face, again. I never found the picture.
Three days later, I find myself still thinking of this friend who died a couple of years after I moved to Seattle the second time. It was probably around 2003. We had fallen out of touch, because I had moved, gotten married, and had my first child. All of that upheaval in such a short time doesn't lend itself to being a good friend. It is 14 years later, and I feel compelled to write his story.
I can't remember how I met Eric, but I'm sure it was during the time in college when I was writing for the Boise State University newspaper, The Arbiter, as an entertainment writer. At that time, music was my passion, and I had big dreams of becoming a music journalist, going on the road with bands and writing about it, and never, ever settling down to a boring life in the suburbs. **Cue the laughter**
I saw Eric's metal band onstage one night, although I don't remember the venue. He was one of the most unique singers I had seen mainly due to the fact that he was wheelchair bound. This was always a bit of a shocker to the crowd. The equipment would be set up, the rest of the band would come out and grab their instruments, and Eric would roll out in front of the mic. People would mumble in uncomfortable, hushed voices, and then the band would start playing. Eric would start singing, whipping his long, black hair around and rocking out, and after a couple of minutes, no one watching would care about the wheelchair. It was always an incredible sight to see.
I asked if I could interview him, and he jumped at the chance. Eric had a great smile, fantastic taste in music, and was the primary songwriter for the band. We had a great interview, until of course he broached the forbidden subject with such a magnificent nonchalance: "So, are you going to ask me how I ended up in the chair?". I told him I hadn't intended to, but he assured me that it was all part of his story and wasn't ashamed.
When Eric was in the 8th grade, he was going through a severe depression and decided he would end his life. He took a shotgun and attempted to kill himself, but the shotgun slipped when it went off and the bullets lodged in his spine rendering him paralyzed from the waist down with only partial movement in his arms and hands. When I met him, he was living with his roommate CJ in an apartment near BSU. He had a care provider named Tammy who was always pushing him to be more independent. He drove a converted Astro van, and had dreams of someday getting a car, which he said would be way cooler.
The interview was just the start of our friendship. Eric would invite me to his band practices, parties, and just to hang out. I had an apartment close to campus, but didn't drive, so I would always accept when the opportunity presented itself to leave the immediate area, particularly if it involved music or parties. Eric and I would talk about our dreams for the future, bands we loved, and our mutual desire to get out of Idaho.
Eric was a bonafide metalhead, and some of his song titles were "God Bless You Dead" and "One More War". I can't remember the name of his band, but he was the vocalist and played rhythm guitar sometimes, John was the guitarist, Trent played guitar, as well, David was the bass player, and I can't remember the drummer (which any drummer will find funny). It was the age of grunge, which Eric liked to listen to, but had no desire to play. He told me about a chance encounter with Nirvana during their In Utero tour when they played Boise.
He was going through a different entrance that was handicap accessible, and Courtney Love was smoking a cigarette in the hallway he was going through. She saw him and invited him back stage. He hung out with the Dave, Krist and Pat. He said that Kurt was quiet and in the corner, not really interested in anything until one of the road guys asked Eric about how he ended up in the chair. When Eric told him the story of his attempted suicide, Kurt came right over, listened intently and started asking a bunch of questions. Eric said that Kurt asked him if it was easy to pull the trigger, if he felt any pain, did he remember what it was like when the bullet hit him. Eric, being Eric, answered honestly, until Courtney exploded and started yelling at Kurt. By then, it was showtime, so Eric and his friend went out to watch the show. He said Dave gave him his phone number, and when Eric heard about Kurt committing suicide, he tried to call Dave just to apologize. Eric always felt bad that he didn't emphasize enough how terrible attempting suicide was. "I wish I would have told him it just isn't worth it."
When I met Eric, I was in a really bad relationship with a boyfriend who would constantly tear me down. One of those awful, toxic people who gets you to believe that you are absolutely worthless. One night, my boyfriend and I went to a party that Eric invited us to, and my boyfriend wanted to leave. I didn't, so Eric said he would drive me home later. I ended up staying at his house, and I'll never forget the moment he asked me, "Why are you with a guy who constantly tells you what a shitty person you are? You are a really talented, incredible woman who could do so much better." Sometimes in life, it takes hearing the obvious to lift the veil. Within a couple of months, I broke up with my toxic boyfriend, moved out of our apartment, got my driver's license and a car.
By then, Eric had moved in with Tammy, her husband, Tony, and their children. It was a bigger space and more convenient for him. CJ had, unfortunately, been diagnosed HIV positive, and committed suicide after he found out. I had a dream shortly after he died that I was coming out of a house that was supposed to be mine, but wasn't, and he was leaning against his car. I asked him when he was coming back, he told me he wasn't. "When will I see you again?" He smiled and said, "Don't worry, you'll see me again someday." Then he got in his car and drove off. I'd like to think that dream was his way of saying, "Good bye." I can't remember if I ever told Eric about it.
Around the mid-90s, I had a short-lived marriage that gave me the freedom to move away from my controlling parents. I headed to Seattle, and after living there about a year, got a call from Eric out of the blue. His mom had remarried, again, and her new husband was stationed at a Naval base in Western Washington. He was going to be close and wanted to get together. We had a wonderful time hanging out, and I realized that I really missed him. He had decided to major in Psychology, his band had broken up, but he was still writing and recording music. I can't remember everything about that visit, but I remember feeling really empty when he left.
When I returned to Boise in the late '90s to work for a concert promoter, one of the first people I looked up was Eric. He had had a tough go of things and was struggling to finish his degree. For him, the biggest challenge was dealing with various illnesses and infections that came with paralysis. If a fully-mobile person gets a kidney infection, they feel the pain right away and get to the doctor, but by the time Eric would realize he had a kidney infection, it required hospitalization. If you are in the hospital for a few weeks, you aren't attending classes, and by the time you are up to par, you end up dropping the class, because you're too far behind. He was bummed out, but still optimistic for a bright future.
We would catch up on a regular basis when he wasn't in classes and I wasn't working, we'd head to the Outback Steakhouse, because he was addicted to the blooming onion. We would talk about music, dreams, goals and getting out of Idaho. Eric still wanted a cool car. The thought of us getting together romantically had presented itself a few times, but when I was available, he wasn't and vice versa. One of the last times I saw him, it was at one of our Outback dinners. I was single, and he was off again with a relationship he was ready to give up on. We entertained the thought of giving it a go, but it never happened. A few weeks later, I would meet the love of my life, and within months, I would be back in Seattle, again.
Eric and I emailed each other, but we both became preoccupied with our lives. It was shortly after Rachael was born that I got word that Eric had passed away. It was one of those damn kidney infections. By the time he realized one had come on, it had done significant damage. He went to the hospital and didn't come back. I had been in touch with his sister shortly after he passed. She said Tammy had taken Eric's death really hard. His sister had done a touching tribute online about lighting a candle for him.
I went to look for that tribute the other night when Eric crossed my mind after all these years, and I couldn't find it. I thought it was sad that the only thing I can find about Eric is the mention of his name in his father's obituary. I guess this is what compelled me to write about him. His name was Eric Michael Jantz. He had a terrific smile, long black hair, he loved heavy metal, listening to it, singing it, playing it on guitar, recording it, writing it, he loved concerts, the Outback Steakhouse blooming onion, cool cars, beautiful girls, and wanted to get out of Idaho someday. His name was Eric Michael Jantz, and I miss him dearly.
