Some twenty years ago, living a life so radical and subversive that it fills me with anxiety just to think of it, I met Angela Ellingson. We were infatuated with each other, I suppose — although not in any sexual way. We were more like 5-year-olds on the playground who thought each other very keen. But friendship had clearly bothered my girlfriend at the time (later my wife) and her boyfriend at the time (later her husband, it would seem). We were kindred spirits: militant, bookwormish, and broadly curious.
Her boyfriend Jason Iverson, was also a friend of mine. He took on mythic proportions in my fiction. He was interesting and intelligent, but what fascinated me about him was his day-by-day control of a life that was, by my way of looking at things, out of control. Where I hid from troubles Jason confronted them and generally prevailed. He was the kind of man that I’ve always wanted to be like. Or at least more like.
Jason Iverson Died
Two years ago, I wrote, “There are few people from the past I want to have any contact with. But I wouldn’t mind hearing from Angela or Jason.” So when I joined Facebook, I looked up Angela. Her last post was on 11 April 2015 and it read, “Happy Birthday Jason, I miss you.” That was ominous. So I clicked over to Jason’s page where the last post was on 20 September 2014, written by Angela:
It seems inconceivable to me. Jason was always “the man.” How could such a thing happen? Although it does have resonance for me. I often tell people that drivers are trying to kill me as I walk about. It is meant as a joke. But to most drivers, pedestrians are like insects flying across the street: nothing to worry much about. As a result, I’m hyper-vigilant. When you are a pedestrian, you are in a war zone. What I mean by my little joke is that you should treat drivers as if they were trying to kill you.
I’m extremely sad that Jason is dead. And that it should have happened due to something I worry about excessively, makes it all the worse. He was a musician who I never got a chance to play with, and now I never will. Now I’ll never even talk to him, although I do remember our last conversation where he related an amazing true story of his life.
As for Angela, it must have been — and probably still is — crushing. They were together 23 years. I’ve never managed much more than a few years in any relationship.