The first death that affected my heart was that of John Belushi.
I was in my yellow bedroom, listening to the only rock n' roll radio station in town, when I heard the news. I'd never been west of West Virginia, but there was something about Hollywood and heroin that resonated deep within me.
My mother and I had to make a late night trip to Safeway so I could run in and get her some maxi pads. Once in the car, she was quiet and I was quiet. She was always quiet, ever since her breakup with my kung fu instructor, but I think she was quiet in a sort of sympathetic way on that night. She lived her life by the code of remorse and regret, so she was able to appreciate my pain at being born too late to ever have a relationship with John Belushi.
Two broken hearts, chugging down the main street of a one horse town in a small yellow Honda.
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