And at the 11:11...

Facebook update too long for Twitter:

The Catholic priest that baptised me was a LEGENDARY child molester; never touched me. The older kid up the street molested a couple of my friends; never touched me. So... here's to being the fat kid growing up: "Hey guys, have fun getting the bad touch... I'm going to have another bowl of ice cream and play Atari."

Farewell to the World's Tallest Midget*

Through the course of day to day living, one usually finds themselves interacting with certain people fairly routinely: Door men, baristas, secretaries, and for some of us, bartenders. Superficial would be the best way to describe the relationships we have with these people. We seldom delve into conversation any deeper than a "how are you" which seldom yields a response other than "fine, you?"

Sometimes we augment these "relationships" through social networking sites, such as Facebook. Facebook offers its users a way to give the appearance of giving a shit without really having to do so. We offer quick updates to let people know the minutia of our day and in exchange we read the minutia of others' days.

I imagine people don't pay a lot of attention to such updates, which often relays information such as:

Facebook Update from Mo Simmons (5/18/09 at 12:39am) hey yall my phone is off can't get texts but can get calls in so don't think im ignoring you just ignoring paying my bill lol

A friendly advisory from Mo, a bartender at a bar that I frequent. I was not affected by this lack of calls as she and I weren't friends on a phone call level, more a friend on the level described in the opening of this post. We certainly had our share of chats, talking about mutual friends, plans for the weekend. One Saturday morning, during a somewhat routine search for some personal affects lost during the drunken night prior, I stopped in at the bar where Mo works to, you know, see if my things were there.

They weren't, but Mo was. She had just opened the bar and she had yet to have a customer walk through the door, until I showed up. She poured me a Diet Coke and we chatted for about 45 minutes. This is about 40 minutes longer than I "chat" with anyone, including my friends. We discussed relationships: her boyfriend was a friend for years before they started dating; conversely I'm friends with people I used to date), working as a bouncer (she's about 5'3" and worked as an actual bouncer, training in self defense with her bouncing 'team,' where I just wanted to get through a night incident free (read: my face intact)). She proudly showed off her scar on her back, a result of one of many surgeries she's had since middle school. I even felt comfortable asking her advice on a situation, something I don't really do with people I know on more than a cursory level.

After a while, I told Mo that I'd see her around and went on with the rest of my day. I thought about how glad I was that I spent the time to hang out with her. It was the start to a good day in that I spent the time to get to know someone that otherwise was just a smiling friendly face pouring me a good drink.

So, again, her Facebook update regarding her lack of phone calls was irrelevant to me; just another update I skimmed among all the others.

The following morning, I again skimmed the Facebook updates. I came across another one from Mo, less than seven hours from the previous one:

Facebook Update from Mo Simmons (5/18/09 at 6:22am) good night my loves, my everyone that has been there for me yes, I can be a pain in the ass but thats how I ROLL! love you all!!!!!!!!!!!!! see ya in hell BITCHEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!

Someone had soon after questioned the post via a comment: "where are you going?" This echoed the question in my mind as I left the computer to get dressed and go to work. I thought nothing more of the somewhat ominous update from Mo until I received the following text message from her employer and mutual friend at 3:39pm:

FWD: FWD: Hey all. bad news. mo passed away last nite. no details yet. will be in touch.

I thought it was some strange joke. Not that the person that sent the text would do such a thing. It was a reaction that I think a lot of people felt. I mean, she couldn't have passed away "last night..." she was posting things less than nine hours ago on Facebook like... that... weird... update. I went onto Facebook and read her last update about 11 more times:

see ya in hell BITCHEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!

Disbelief gave way to nausea. Mo killed herself. I won't go into how, as this is a more of a therapeutic piece for me to write and not CS-effing-I. I went to the bar where she worked and talked to the person that sent the text, as if I needed to validate what I already knew to be true by hearing something in person rather than via a fucking text message.

That night, I met up with a group of friends and regulars at the bar to remember Mo and dabble in a little whatthefuckery. Many tears shed, toasts given, and stories told that evening. I really had no stories, other than that conversation one hungover Saturday morning. I enjoyed hearing others' stories, which were peppered with the usual questions: "Why did she do it?" and statements like "I was just talking to her last night" and "she seemed fine." For the record, a beautiful performance of "Danny Boy" by the bartender on duty during a moment of silence at the bar brounght me to a crumpled crying mess. I'm sure others were reduced to the same. I hope they were, anyways. Otherwise, I really fagged up the place.

It's human nature to try to find logic in situations; we need things to make sense. Why would someone who appeared to be making plans for the future suddenly kill herself? Why spend time talking to a tattoo artist about upcoming work (as she did the night before she died) and lament on Facebook about upcoming surgery, hoping to "skip the near death part?" Sometimes simply asking the questions relieves the angst of knowing that you'll never get the answers.

Sometimes.

One thinks about the last moments they spent with someone before they're gone. I don't remember the last time I saw Mo. This could be because it was an uneventful evening, or (honestly) because I was blackout drunk. I will remember how easy she was to talk to and how nice it always was to see her when I visited the bar on her shifts. I'll remember the conversation we had.

And I'll never forget the faces of her friends on the night that they learned that she was gone.

Rest in Peace, Melissa.

Links:

Mo Simmons Facebook page

Gregster's Post: "RIP Mo"

Memorial info:

"Mo" -morial: Wednesday, May 27th from noon until 4 pm at Berbati's Pan. Friends and family of all ages are welcome. Adult wake to follow at Beuhlaland.



*with apologies to Lady Sovereign. Sort of.