Ruben part III
Here is Ruben Part I
Here is Ruben Part II
And here is
Ruben meant a lot to us, in different ways I guess. And despite the awkward nature of the encounters we were having with our old friends, M and I didn't want to miss anything. That being said, the timing for dedicating his ashes couldn't have been more perfect: the night before we left for Alabama. This night stamped some perspective into our minds about the whole affair.
G, along with a few of us, decided to commit Ruben's ashes at The Tree. It seemed a particularly appropriate spot. Aside from the blatant cliche of the symbolism involved in spreading someone's ashes at a tree, it held a certain sentimentality. This was a place we all used to go to get trashed. It was a prime spot, right off the path in a forest preserve, next to a man made lake. The tree is old and large, shading a small patch of grass banking the lake. It is about 20 yards from the main walking path in the preserve and unless you know where it is, you’d probably never find it. Perfect for a bunch of drunk teenagers to hide from the cops. I had only been there a couple of times, but the place is somewhat hard to forget. Quite a pretty spot, looking out over the lake you can see, in the distance, the orange glow of the vapor lamps of Lake Cook Road, the high tension wires, and the pulsing red warning lights of the cell towers. A great picture of the modern suburban sprawl of Chicagoland.
We only went there at night, which along with other various factors, made this particular trip just as illegal as our previous ones. We had a cause though. And like intrepid crusaders, we ventured one by one across the road, leaving our cars waiting like noble steeds at a synagogue parking lot. G waited at the entrance to the park with a flashlight, waving us across the road after cars cleared from view. It felt ever so sneaky. The whole group followed G down the path till we reached a spot where we clumsily crossed through the dense woods and brush till we reached our grail for the night, the clearing, the tree, the spot.
This night, none of us drank. I don't know if anyone said anything to stymie that kind of activity, but none of us brought any alcohol to this event. Ruben, after all, did drown while drunk, and we were, after all, next to a body of water with his ashes. Someone did bring a joint, but I'll get to that later. So it was getting late and the 20 odd some of us formed a circle with the base of the tree taking a spot in the group. After some brief chatter, we started our ceremony.
One by one, each of us said 'goodbye' to Ruben, passing the urn around the circle. Each of us shook some of the ashes out on to the ground around the tree. The mood was most definitely somber. All of us felt, again, that all of this was so surreal. This wasn’t happening, not really. Most everyone was crying. And as I got the urn, it became horribly real. I walked slowly to the tree and watched as his ashes dispersed into the ground. I felt so distant and connected at the same time, sorry, but with thoughts of fertilization and life cycles, carbon reaction, etc. Very momentary. I walked back and handed the urn to M. She stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, then followed suit.
It was strangely ritualistic and so random. It meant something to us, but what it was, I am not sure anyone knew. Was there any permanence to what we were doing? Was there any permanence at all? Surely, keeping his ashes in the urn would have been more permanent. I don’t think that was the point. There was talk about having a metal plaque made up, but was quickly shot down. I truly felt that the idea was opposite to that, something about change, growth and life, not death. Maybe I was the only one who picked up on that. I don’t know.
After 20 some people dumped ashes out of this container, there was a lot more left. Things got a little more interesting. G asked if anyone wanted some of Ruben. Watching people clamor for an alternate receptacle was quite amusing. I managed to get myself the cellophane from a pack of cigarettes. Some people took scarves and empty cigarette packs up there. The process was cupping your hands over the opening and then turning the urn over to release some of the ashes into your hands. What you did with it from there was your own responsibility.
As I poured the ashes into the cellophane, I noticed larger chunks falling. Bone. There came reality crashing in again with the force of a hurricane. Then I noticed the ash on my hands. I sat there and stared at them for a minute, not quite knowing what to do, then briskly rubbed them together to shake off the dust, then on my pants to remove the rest. I felt disgusted by it all. It was charred, so it was in fact sterile. But, something about it was dirty, infesting. I didn’t really want to touch it.
During this whole ‘ceremony’ there was some struggle for power over the ashes and leadership of the group. Iat (whose name is another story altogether) kept butting in with cheesy mock compassionate talk. G tried to keep control of the group. Jen tried to keep control of the ashes. Ruben’s ex girlfriend was almost completely slighted when it came to all of this. I thought that was the worst of it. The whole thing stunk. Once again I come to this conclusion about things. We were all there to give our respects and it almost seemed like that is the one thing every single one of us lacked, respect.
The circle had been well broken up at this point, and to be perfectly honest, I was glad. I was obviously sorry and broken up about this, but not that much. I had more of a pensive respect for the situation and for the presence of Ruben’s friends at this time. People none of us had talked to for the longest time showed up for this thing. Dave, who nearly disappeared off the face of the earth returned and had his usual cold stare, between break downs. Lewis, who none of us really wanted to see, showed up. He hadn’t changed one bit. The last time I saw him he was talking (rambling) slowly and hadn’t showered in days. This was only different in that he could speak. He was a bum. Once, he was intelligent and now he was done. This was a sad case of potential gone down the drain.
Lewis spoke to me and wanted to get back in touch. I wasn’t sure what good that would have done at this point. I wasn’t sure I wanted to speak to him again. Not that it would hurt any, but I just had no interest. He was the sort of Ken Keasey wannabe that I really didn’t need in my life. The time and place for that was gone. I told him that his contact with me would be mostly limited to beratement and disapproval. His response was that he may have needed that. Nuts, just as I thought. Completely nuts.
So, this was the end. Chris pulled out a joint, I had a few puffs, and then most of us left. Short goodbyes all around, I think we just wanted to get this done and over with. I was half expecting a line of cops just outside the woods, but the coast was clear. All in all we had only been there about two hours. Things were eerily calm. We got back to the car and went home. We still had to pack.
The drive home was quiet. Neither one of us talked all that much other than the occasional “I’m glad that’s over.” I had a slight case of sniffles too. Rubbing my nose was a bad idea. For the next forty minutes I had such nausea. The smell of death permeated my nostrils. I guess I hadn’t wiped all the ash from my hands. It clung there like ivy on brick. Dense and full, it forced me into dry heaves for a minute. I thought of death camps and that smell piping out of smoke stacks. The sense of smell is a funny thing. Particles of whatever goes into your nose are absorbed by tissues connected to your brain. (This makes a funny joke about everyone being a shit head) In this instance the sense of smell was not so funny. It was revolting. I had just absorbed small particles of Ruben’s charred flesh and bone. It was one of the most revolting experiences of my life, both on a physical and psychological level. The weird part was that I got over it.
As we made it back into the city, we passed a horrible accident. Glass from the windshield was scattered across the pavement and sparkled like stardust, reflecting the headlights of passing cars. The blood trickling through the glass was an all too familiar reminder of how fragile life was. Gag me, I know, but in the mind state I was in, that is what came to mind. I was shaken, sore, and tired of all this. Too much seriousness all at once.
When we got home, I washed my hands and then packed for Alabama. We were set to leave the next morning. We made it out of the house in the early afternoon. We just didn’t really have the energy to wake up and go.
There is more to the story, but in much shorter installments.
Here is Ruben Part II
And here is
Ruben meant a lot to us, in different ways I guess. And despite the awkward nature of the encounters we were having with our old friends, M and I didn't want to miss anything. That being said, the timing for dedicating his ashes couldn't have been more perfect: the night before we left for Alabama. This night stamped some perspective into our minds about the whole affair.
G, along with a few of us, decided to commit Ruben's ashes at The Tree. It seemed a particularly appropriate spot. Aside from the blatant cliche of the symbolism involved in spreading someone's ashes at a tree, it held a certain sentimentality. This was a place we all used to go to get trashed. It was a prime spot, right off the path in a forest preserve, next to a man made lake. The tree is old and large, shading a small patch of grass banking the lake. It is about 20 yards from the main walking path in the preserve and unless you know where it is, you’d probably never find it. Perfect for a bunch of drunk teenagers to hide from the cops. I had only been there a couple of times, but the place is somewhat hard to forget. Quite a pretty spot, looking out over the lake you can see, in the distance, the orange glow of the vapor lamps of Lake Cook Road, the high tension wires, and the pulsing red warning lights of the cell towers. A great picture of the modern suburban sprawl of Chicagoland.
We only went there at night, which along with other various factors, made this particular trip just as illegal as our previous ones. We had a cause though. And like intrepid crusaders, we ventured one by one across the road, leaving our cars waiting like noble steeds at a synagogue parking lot. G waited at the entrance to the park with a flashlight, waving us across the road after cars cleared from view. It felt ever so sneaky. The whole group followed G down the path till we reached a spot where we clumsily crossed through the dense woods and brush till we reached our grail for the night, the clearing, the tree, the spot.
This night, none of us drank. I don't know if anyone said anything to stymie that kind of activity, but none of us brought any alcohol to this event. Ruben, after all, did drown while drunk, and we were, after all, next to a body of water with his ashes. Someone did bring a joint, but I'll get to that later. So it was getting late and the 20 odd some of us formed a circle with the base of the tree taking a spot in the group. After some brief chatter, we started our ceremony.
One by one, each of us said 'goodbye' to Ruben, passing the urn around the circle. Each of us shook some of the ashes out on to the ground around the tree. The mood was most definitely somber. All of us felt, again, that all of this was so surreal. This wasn’t happening, not really. Most everyone was crying. And as I got the urn, it became horribly real. I walked slowly to the tree and watched as his ashes dispersed into the ground. I felt so distant and connected at the same time, sorry, but with thoughts of fertilization and life cycles, carbon reaction, etc. Very momentary. I walked back and handed the urn to M. She stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do, then followed suit.
It was strangely ritualistic and so random. It meant something to us, but what it was, I am not sure anyone knew. Was there any permanence to what we were doing? Was there any permanence at all? Surely, keeping his ashes in the urn would have been more permanent. I don’t think that was the point. There was talk about having a metal plaque made up, but was quickly shot down. I truly felt that the idea was opposite to that, something about change, growth and life, not death. Maybe I was the only one who picked up on that. I don’t know.
After 20 some people dumped ashes out of this container, there was a lot more left. Things got a little more interesting. G asked if anyone wanted some of Ruben. Watching people clamor for an alternate receptacle was quite amusing. I managed to get myself the cellophane from a pack of cigarettes. Some people took scarves and empty cigarette packs up there. The process was cupping your hands over the opening and then turning the urn over to release some of the ashes into your hands. What you did with it from there was your own responsibility.
As I poured the ashes into the cellophane, I noticed larger chunks falling. Bone. There came reality crashing in again with the force of a hurricane. Then I noticed the ash on my hands. I sat there and stared at them for a minute, not quite knowing what to do, then briskly rubbed them together to shake off the dust, then on my pants to remove the rest. I felt disgusted by it all. It was charred, so it was in fact sterile. But, something about it was dirty, infesting. I didn’t really want to touch it.
During this whole ‘ceremony’ there was some struggle for power over the ashes and leadership of the group. Iat (whose name is another story altogether) kept butting in with cheesy mock compassionate talk. G tried to keep control of the group. Jen tried to keep control of the ashes. Ruben’s ex girlfriend was almost completely slighted when it came to all of this. I thought that was the worst of it. The whole thing stunk. Once again I come to this conclusion about things. We were all there to give our respects and it almost seemed like that is the one thing every single one of us lacked, respect.
The circle had been well broken up at this point, and to be perfectly honest, I was glad. I was obviously sorry and broken up about this, but not that much. I had more of a pensive respect for the situation and for the presence of Ruben’s friends at this time. People none of us had talked to for the longest time showed up for this thing. Dave, who nearly disappeared off the face of the earth returned and had his usual cold stare, between break downs. Lewis, who none of us really wanted to see, showed up. He hadn’t changed one bit. The last time I saw him he was talking (rambling) slowly and hadn’t showered in days. This was only different in that he could speak. He was a bum. Once, he was intelligent and now he was done. This was a sad case of potential gone down the drain.
Lewis spoke to me and wanted to get back in touch. I wasn’t sure what good that would have done at this point. I wasn’t sure I wanted to speak to him again. Not that it would hurt any, but I just had no interest. He was the sort of Ken Keasey wannabe that I really didn’t need in my life. The time and place for that was gone. I told him that his contact with me would be mostly limited to beratement and disapproval. His response was that he may have needed that. Nuts, just as I thought. Completely nuts.
So, this was the end. Chris pulled out a joint, I had a few puffs, and then most of us left. Short goodbyes all around, I think we just wanted to get this done and over with. I was half expecting a line of cops just outside the woods, but the coast was clear. All in all we had only been there about two hours. Things were eerily calm. We got back to the car and went home. We still had to pack.
The drive home was quiet. Neither one of us talked all that much other than the occasional “I’m glad that’s over.” I had a slight case of sniffles too. Rubbing my nose was a bad idea. For the next forty minutes I had such nausea. The smell of death permeated my nostrils. I guess I hadn’t wiped all the ash from my hands. It clung there like ivy on brick. Dense and full, it forced me into dry heaves for a minute. I thought of death camps and that smell piping out of smoke stacks. The sense of smell is a funny thing. Particles of whatever goes into your nose are absorbed by tissues connected to your brain. (This makes a funny joke about everyone being a shit head) In this instance the sense of smell was not so funny. It was revolting. I had just absorbed small particles of Ruben’s charred flesh and bone. It was one of the most revolting experiences of my life, both on a physical and psychological level. The weird part was that I got over it.
As we made it back into the city, we passed a horrible accident. Glass from the windshield was scattered across the pavement and sparkled like stardust, reflecting the headlights of passing cars. The blood trickling through the glass was an all too familiar reminder of how fragile life was. Gag me, I know, but in the mind state I was in, that is what came to mind. I was shaken, sore, and tired of all this. Too much seriousness all at once.
When we got home, I washed my hands and then packed for Alabama. We were set to leave the next morning. We made it out of the house in the early afternoon. We just didn’t really have the energy to wake up and go.
There is more to the story, but in much shorter installments.