Content Warning: This story contains themes of suicide, mental health struggles, and emotional distress. This story contains heavy themes, if you or anyone you know is struggling there are resources listed at the bottom of the page.
With the window down i let hot summer air, warm from the highway asphalt wash over me. i took a pause from conversation, rested my head against the plastic paneling of my friend Jacob's car, and reflected on the twisting road that had led our lives back together after years apart. A familiar, soothing breeze tossed my hair, and muffled the stereo. Hours away, our paths would follow their pattern, splitting and converging, at the Gorge amphitheatre. A strange trip, culminating at a music festival deep in Washington State. However, this chapter began almost a year prior, in Vancouver BC.
My band arrived smiling and triumphant to congratulations and backpatting backstage after our performance. In the corner of the room i spied a distressed friend pouring his heart out. i was perplexed, only moments before i'd seen him singing and dancing in our audience, and made my way over to find out what was the matter. Close to tears he explained earlier that morning he'd recieved news that a close friend had taken his life months prior. His eyes wet, packed with guilt, i asked what his friend's name was, and went cold as he whispered Hillel.
Hillel, an old, important friend of mine, our connection lost by time and circumstance. i sat in shock. We'd met while in high school, waiting for doors outside the Mesa Luna1, a small venue that hosted a few all ages shows. i was with my cousin, Hillel was with his best friend Jacob, inspired by the show each pair would later start bands together. He was riddled in acne wearing a Clash shirt, one i'd rarely see him without. Jacob sported an enormous afro, thick coke bottle glasses and a Dead Kennedys tee. Conversation started quick. There was so much in common. The four of us were the same age, into the same bands, it was everyone's first local show outside of high school events, and first time in a bar. Our nerves, and spirits were high. It was a thrilling event. A step into adulthood with hometown heroes The Evaporators, fronted by international legend Nardwuar the Human Serviette. Little did we know how early we were. Lucky for all, the hours waiting were in good company.
The show was wild, Nardwuar in high form, crowd surfing on his keyboard, orchestrating the packed audience in constant frenzy. A great night spent laughing, moshing, dancing, and singing. Soaked in sweat, few of it our own, we said our goodbyes, and braved the cold February night back to opposite ends of the city. There were no phone numbers or emails exchanged, it was a different era, before the explosion of social media. No facebook, instagram, at best MSN messenger, and even that, seemed far from thought.
And yet, our lives intertwined. Without fail we'd find each other. Didn't matter the show, if there was a pit, there was Hillal and Jacob. The White Stripes, Warped Tour, Alexisonfire, Metric, Rancid, they were there. It wasn't only concerts. Anytime i'd venture off alone downtown from the suburbs to explore the city i'd run into Jacob and Hillel. Roaming the streets, eating dollar slices, looking for culture, conversation, and life. Details were eventually exchanged and internet friends arrived. Most of our chats in late hours of the night via messenger. Discoveries shared, films, bands, books. Talking about punk rock, debating values, what decades we wish we'd been born into to see which bands.
While i had plenty of friends in high school, i didn't relate to anyone as much as that pair. No one shared the same hunger, and obsession searching for art, connection, or meaning as the three of us. We started bands at the same time, getting each other shows in our high schools, and backyard parties. We discovered the world through separate lenses, and would divulge at our meetings. Politics, philosophy, but always music. They worked at venues, i got Jacob involved with a local zine, life was exciting, i had found a crew.
Graduation was inevitable, and the same winds that brought us together, scattered us around the globe. Jacob to Toronto, Hillel in Montreal, and me to London. As the years marched on, our contact dwindled. Socials arrived but our connections never resumed. i'd only see Hillel one time before his death. Outside a gig of mine in the downtown Eastside as he passed through the city during a reading break. The promises we made to meet up again soon were never kept.
The news of his suicide had me shook. Coming from a religious community, his family's shame kept his death quiet. Friends only heard of his departure this plane through the grapevine. i couldn't help but feel like i'd let my friend down. Having suffered from consuming bouts of depression myself i wished i could've helped. In truth, i'd let myself down. Let a monumental friend slip through my fingers when i should've made more of an effort to call, to chat. Not pretending my words might have kept him around, only so i'd have more memories, more moments. i mourned the conversations we could have had, the shows we should have seen together, the music we could've made.
There was no resolution, no closure. Only a few broken friends toasting him in the basement of a record store. Time passed and i thought of my friend often. Almost a year later i went to Ottawa, and Montreal for a few shows with a different band. i managed to contact Jacob and arranged to meet before my flight left from Toronto.
When Jacob picked me up he informed me that unfortunately he only had time to hang for the afternoon. When i inquired what he had going on that evening, he told me that he had a flight to catch, and needed to run a few errands before. Relieved that i wouldn't have to be the one to cut our visit short, i could only laugh at the coincidence. Jacob shook his head and offered a spot in his father's car to our flights, it was too perfect. He showed me the city and his haunts while we caught up, and he finished his tasks. Hours passed in bliss, painted in the past. Our conversations were the same, though scopes shifted. Amongst the punks we spoke of Ferguson, Baker, Monk, and other jazz giants. The old dynamic made the new city feel familiar.
His father scooped us from Jacob's apartment, and old echoes of rides home from shows as teens boomed. We walked into the airport with his rolling bag clipping and my backpack saddled down. Hugged, said our goodbyes, and got awkward as we both continued in the same direction to check in. He looked at me a little confused, and we realized that we'd been so consumed in our catch up we hadn't asked each other the details of our flights. Turns out we were both flying with Air Canada, and were surprised yet again when we both stood in the same line for the flight to Vancouver.
Our farewells far too premature, we collected our boarding passes, went through security and grabbed another coffee. i made a quick call and was able to return the favour from his father and offer Jacob a ride to his destination when we arrived in BC.
Over our coffees it was time to acknowledge the elephant. "Did you hear about Hillel?" Jacob asked.
Grateful he addressed the topic for me, i let a sigh of relief escape. i had been so excited to reunite, and didn't know how to approach the lose. i explained i knew only a little of Hillel's death, but no depth, and hadn't been able to speak to anyone about it. Together we stepped into the uncomfortable. Fearless, Jacob shared about Hillel's struggles, how his mental health had spiralled over the years, and how hard the distance had been for both of them after their moves. Jacob's family had followed him out east, while Hillel had been isolated in Quebec. He told me how difficult it had been, watching from afar, not understanding his best friend's slow unraveling. The painful exclusion from a family he knew so well while they buried their son. Coming from the same culture, he justified the privacy of the funeral, but still felt the sting.
Nothing was solved, but a bit of pain released. Commiserating was medicinal, soothing the sorrow i'd been carrying. The weight of sadness from the loss of such a pivotal person in both our lives was enormous. We were able to remember his smile, his secret glee sharing music we'd yet to discover. The records he played on repeat, his guitar tone, his melodies, the thoughtful lyrics where Hillel shared his quiet thoughts.
Reluctant, we rose for our flight following the final boarding call. With a quick toast to our fallen friend we finished our drinks, collected our bags, and joined the line to Vancouver. A quarter of the way into our flight Jacob walked down the aisle and asked if i'd like to switch to an empty seat beside him. i inquired about Jacob's plans in the city, fishing for when we'd get to spend time together next. His schedule was full of preplanned visits, and days limited, the majority spent in Washington State at Sasquatch. The same reason that i was returning west early. Our pattern of realizing the obvious in front of us late continued, same airport, same flight, and same festival.
Our eyes rolled, we should have known. Of course we were going to the same shows again. Jacob asked who i was attending with and told him i was hitching solo. He smiled again, and for the second time that day, offered a ride. With caution he informed me the lift couldn't take me the whole way. He'd be filling his car with other campmates and food an hour south of the border, but the space was mine until then, should i like it. Our paths converging yet again, guided by something deeper.
Days later, our journey south was calm and chill. While i'd been hoping to continue speaking of Hillel, deeper chats were impaired with the presence of Jacob's other friend. Instead we shared schedules, names of acts we were excited to see, hipping each other to newer groups as we had in our youth.
As we looked at printed time tables conversation lingered on the opening night. Celebrating their ten year anniversary, the festival organized its first four day weekend. The Friday kicking things off hosted a lot more rock acts then most years. Booking heavy artists wasn't uncommon, i'd seen Nine Inch Nails perform when i attended in high school, but most days were more diverse in gentler genres. Two of the major draws, the reunited Death From Above 1979, and industry darlings Against Me! were groups Jacob and i had seen together at the Mesa Luna, the same venue we'd met at years ago. His eyes flashed from the rearview mirror. Both acts were amongst Hillel's favourites.
Death from Above 1979's show was infamous in Vancouver, hosted months before their explosion in popularity, and untimely demise. One of the most frenetic and fun dance parties i've experienced, attending had been a badge of honour for the three of us. We'd also caught Against Me! right before their tidal wave across the music industry, jumping on stage, hanging out after the show. Hillel had played his copy of the As the Eternal Cowboy so often it broke in his discman. i can still remember when he showed me the damage with pride. The crack in the disk, right beside the image of a lighting bolt decorating the pink sticker label of the CD.
Our ride ended too quick. Jacob and i set plans to meet in the campsite, and the fellas wished me luck as they fetched a shopping cart while i moved to the exit and cast my thumb to the fates.
The road between then and the festival gates was rot with peril.2 Through the highs and lows of the next twelve-ish hours with the hellions, never once did i lose a sense of watchful eyes guarding my path. A prized tale to tell the following morning when i found Jacob and his camp.
Hidden in the hum of crowds the next afternoon, we spoke of our friend again, how much he would have loved the line up. We both marvelled at our realizations that it was as if the day had been specifically curated by or for him. Artists that had inspired Hillel, and soundtracked his too few days. Jacob laughed, and shook his head, remembering how it was as if Hillel would only share his discoveries a week or two after he'd gone through them. When you finally caught up, and praised his recommendations he'd smirk, then smugly say something like: "Oh that band? Ya, i stopped listening to them when i found..." whatever new artist it was that he was now willing to share. Forever steps ahead, on to the next wave, always with the best taste.
Our vocal chords ripped from our cathartic howls as we sang along with Against Me!- to date one of my favourite performances amongst the fifteen time's i've seen them. We danced and stomped through the day, boogied to Death From Above 1979 right up to the headliners, the Foo Fighters.
Hillel's praise for groups on commercial radio was uncommon. It wasn't until we'd stepped into the pit, waited for the lights to drop, and band to begin that an old memory unearthed itself. Sitting with Hillel on the sidewalks of Vancouver while he smoked, boasting how much better i found Kurt's songwriting compared to Dave Grohls, how his records with Nirvana would always tower over his new works. Hillel let me say my peace, shrugged, and said "Maybe, but Dave wrote Everlong. Perhaps the greatest love song of all time. There's room for argument and context with their catalogues, but nothing, from any other band, can beat that song. It's my favourite over everyone."
i remember his comment stunning me. Later that night, at home, i revisited the single i'd overlooked, and damned if he wasn't right. Damned if it's not one of my favourite songs. It wasn't that he opened my eyes to the tune, and the band, but to every band. One of the most pretentious people i've ever met, Hillel was the one that showed me the careful ear needed when listening to music. That you could never write off any person or artist with something as trite as popularity, or how "cool" they were.
The show was a blast. When the band reemerged to the stage for an encore, Dave spoke to the state. He reminisced how important moving to Washington to join Nirvana in Seattle had been in his life, and how much he missed his friend Kurt, who'd also died by his own hand. Taylor Hawkins, Dave's best friend, and drummer, (and who has now tragically died as well) teased Dave by playing the iconic drum intro to Smells like Teen Spirit, which caused him to roll his eyes. Jacob and i looked at each other, the pain of our lost friend, and his former bandmate, all too real. The opening chords were struck, and Everlong began. The words were to another friend passed but there could be no better eulogy to our Hillel. We danced, and thrashed arm in arm, sang our hearts out screaming our pain away through the mountains and down the river as we celebrated our dear friend's life, and the lasting impact his had on ours.
For the first time in years, i felt Hillel's presence, felt him beside me. It had been a long strange journey that brought Jacob and i back together for that moment. Guided and guarded through ups and downs. That weekend was the last time i saw Jacob, and a perfect bookmark for our friendship to pick up from next. The song gave me not only hope, but faith in future chapters, a trust in something bigger. That my dear friend rests safe, loved, and somewhere close by. While i have no answers in regards to the afterlife, Hillel has changed the way i feel about it. i can't help but believe he led our paths back together, and gave as much closure as he could. While my days will always be less without his direct conversation, they're forever better for the ones we had. Lessons learned in life and death, Everlong.
The final piece, adding a bit of depth to a wild weekend.
Thanks for reading
-Mr. Write
Rest in Peace Friend…
Canada:
Talk Suicide Canada (24/7): 📞 1-833-456-4566 | talksuicide.ca
Crisis Centre BC (24/7): 📞 1-800-784-2433 | crisiscentre.bc.ca
Youth in BC (Online Chat for Young People): youthinbc.com
United States:
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (24/7): 📞 Dial 988 | 988lifeline.org
For LGBTQIA+ Support:
Trans Lifeline (Canada & US): 📞 1-877-330-6366 | translifeline.org
The Trevor Project (US, under 25): 📞 1-866-488-7386 | Text "START" to 678678 | thetrevorproject.org
Global Directory:
findahelpline.com – Support services by country, curated by mental health professionals.
Not the first time i’ve written about the Mesa Luna, check out Mesa Lunatic to read about the concert that started off my career of sneaking into concerts.
Seriously, if you haven’t read the other two stories, nows the time! Tarantino this baby:
The Rise of the Hellions
Sirens