I remember a boy named Tony Yee. \u00a0His father was estranged, and his mother remarried. \u00a0Her name was Judy Nathan.<\/p>\n
Tony and I first met in the sixth grade. \u00a0His family moved in next door from California, and he was an only child. \u00a0Their’s was a small ranch-style home on the corner of First and H Street, in a poor mill town in central Oregon. \u00a0Tony’s stepfather was an American Indian, and worked at the Warm Springs Indian Reservation some twenty-odd miles north of our town. \u00a0His mother, Judy, worked as a cashier at a local convenience store.<\/p>\n
Our town was barely on the map, the census back then around 1,500 residents, a place where everyone knew your business. \u00a0Buses ran to and from school, but it wasn’t uncommon to take to foot and walk. \u00a0The junior high was a stone throw from our neighborhood, the high school a bit further. \u00a0Oftentimes we stopped by the grocery store before or after school, drinking sodas and playing video games. \u00a0Astroids was all the rage, and Defender. \u00a0On the weekends we hunted for soda and beer cans, and exchanged these for nickels. \u00a0When we weren’t in school we threw rocks along the rivers, and when in a more daring mood we crossed the train trestles that lay several hundred feet above the gorge, listening for the distant horns from encroaching locomotives.<\/p>\n
We both came from broken homes, but never spoke of this unseemly bond. \u00a0We needed escape, and found it in each other, running the streets in innocent games of tag or kick the can, down at the school at the outdoor basketball hoops. \u00a0Fashion was unheard of, but we tried like hell to be cool. \u00a0Upon entering high school, we succumbed to peer pressure and smoked weed and drank beer. \u00a0No one told us that we couldn’t. \u00a0My grades slipped, and his fared even worse. \u00a0But what did it matter? \u00a0The future was a luxury that we couldn’t afford. \u00a0However, there were times when Tony talked about becoming a garbageman in San Francisco, the city from where he moved. \u00a0A friend of the family was making fifteen bucks an hour, and after thirty years planned on retiring with a life-long pension and money in the bank. \u00a0Sadly, Tony’s dreams were better than my own.<\/p>\n
My sophomore year was dark with drugs and alcohol. \u00a0I look back now and hate the kid that I was. \u00a0He was everything wrong with society, a rebellious loser, having spent a few too many nights in the county jail for offenses that no parents ought to be proud of, and mine weren’t either. \u00a0Mostly, my parents were indifferent, because dad had problems of his own. \u00a0No, he wasn’t an alcoholic or abusive. \u00a0Dad was slowly dying, and toward the latter years it became rather ugly. \u00a0Pain medication wasn’t helping, and my mother had had enough, was slowly losing her mind. \u00a0The family was unravelling, and so what did it matter that I turned to alternate means of managing the pain that was my own?<\/p>\n
In the summertime we worked for the local farmers, moving irrigation pipes or hoeing mint in the myriad fields. \u00a0We spent our money on clothes, shoes and drugs. \u00a0To pay off our debt to society, a judge ordered us to community service, wherein we spent a good portion of the summer washing county cops cars or cleaning the horse stalls down at the fair grounds.<\/p>\n
Halfway through our junior year he and his mother moved back to San Francisco. \u00a0We kept in touch with phone calls and remained rather close. \u00a0That summer, we convinced our mothers that it would be in our best interests if he moved in with my family to finish out high school. \u00a0What happened then was inexcusable. \u00a0Our behavior was not something that I am proud of, and never would I allow my children the mere thoughts of such criminal antics. \u00a0We took to drinking and driving, stealing cars and money. \u00a0We fought with whomever wherever, and avoided the law by flight of foot or by car. \u00a0My grades plummeted, and so did his. \u00a0My senior year was the glitch in the DVD, a fragmented schism, but I know that it existed. \u00a0I have the yearbook to prove it, and there I am in the photos. \u00a0And there’s Tony, and oftentimes we’re standing together.<\/p>\n
Judy drove up for graduation, and discovered at the ceremony that her son, Tony, wouldn’t be graduating. \u00a0He had missed too many classes, and his grades were abysmal. \u00a0How I managed to squeak by remains a mystery, for I had Fs of my own. \u00a0Tony went home with his mother, back to San Francisco, and I never heard from him again.<\/p>\n
Dad was near death, and I had to get away. \u00a0From everything. \u00a0From the town and from my family, from all the influences and the drugs, and start life anew. \u00a0I took the remedial classes at Oregon Tech, and eventually earned credit hours that could be applied toward graduation. \u00a0My head cleared, and then my body. \u00a0How I went from one extreme to another I’ll never know. \u00a0A guardian angel? \u00a0Some internal drive that didn’t awaken until I turned 18? \u00a0Oftentimes I wonder on my younger years had I not met up with Tony. \u00a0Was he the catalyst for my near destruction? \u00a0Was I his? \u00a0Or were we simply bad together?<\/p>\n
When I graduated from Southern Oregon I joined the Marine Corps. \u00a0My head was clear and my heart was strong. \u00a0The trials of Officer Candidate School were nothing compared to those that I had grown up with. \u00a0From Quantico, Virginia, they sent me to flight school in Florida \u2013 the beginning of a career in aviation. \u00a0I’ve travelled the world, and I believe that as a United States Marine I’ve done some good. \u00a0Perhaps enough to balance me out; perhaps enough to make me whole.<\/p>\n
Late last year, in 2013, an old high school friend sent an email. \u00a0“Look up Tony Yee,” he said, and so I fired up Google and went to work. \u00a0His full name is Anthony David Yee, and I found several articles in different northern California newspapers. \u00a0From high school, Tony joined the Marine Corps, but from what could be gleaned he ran into trouble and was soon forced out. \u00a0From there he spent time in and out of prison, until years later he found himself homeless and alone. \u00a0According to an article, Judy wanted nothing further to do with him. \u00a0She was living alone. \u00a0One day she left home for work. \u00a0Later that night, upon returning, she found her son waiting …<\/p>\n
… a man of forty five …<\/p>\n
… my best friend growing up.<\/p>\n
Several days went by, and Judy failed to show for work. \u00a0Her coworkers phoned the police, and informed them that Judy was afraid of her son, who had showed up out of the blue days ago seeking shelter. \u00a0The cops went to her house, where Tony answered the door. \u00a0Inside, the cops found signs of a struggle. \u00a0They arrested Tony, and eventually found Judy.<\/p>\n
In court, Tony confessed to murdering his mother. \u00a0At first he attempted to strangle her with a rope. \u00a0When she successfully fought him off, he grabbed a ball-peen hammer … and went to work. \u00a0That night, he drove around looking for a place to hide the body. \u00a0Out of ideas, he returned to his mother’s home and stuffed her body down a neighbor’s septic tank. \u00a0A judge sentenced him to life without parole inside of a high-security California prison.<\/p>\n
Several thoughts have come to pass. \u00a0Is he inherently evil? \u00a0Certainly there’s an argument to be made. \u00a0Had he gone crazy and desperate? \u00a0Since we were best friends, and considering our debauchery together, am I too inherently evil? \u00a0Which, I don’t believe to be true. \u00a0Perhaps we become what we nourish, society quick to forgive the criminal antics of a juvenile, but not so much with a man and his murder. \u00a0Interesting in that we both joined the Corps, and where he failed I in turn flourished. \u00a0What I know of my time in the Corps: we are a rag-tag group of war fighters, comprised of both good and bad men intent to keep evil at bay. \u00a0Which again, existentially speaking, puts into question my nature. \u00a0In killing other men, I would sleep easy. \u00a0In killing his mother, does he? \u00a0I wonder if he still dreams? \u00a0Or are his nights full of monsters? \u00a0Was I there at the turning point of his life, like the night when we stole a truck to drive to Portland and, of all things, watch an Ozzy Osbourne concert? \u00a0Was it the night he dropped acid? \u00a0The list goes on, and does it even matter? \u00a0He nourished the evil inside, his nature be damned. \u00a0Although I too feel the evil, always near, I drop to my knees and pray to a God that I hardly believe in. \u00a0An illusion perhaps that allows our species civility and life, that governs demonic desires. \u00a0Perhaps mankind is inherently evil or good, some percentage of both? \u00a0Who really knows? \u00a0Pondering the meaning of life is an exercise in futility. \u00a0We live, we laugh, some murder, and in the end we all die.<\/p>\n
I remember his laugh, and wonder whether it held joy or cruelty. \u00a0If he ever knew love? \u00a0If we were ever really friends, or associates in crime?<\/p>\n
Has he since examined his life? \u00a0Have I, and have you?<\/p>\n
One night I’ll never forget: we were juniors in high school, and I was spending the night at his house, which wasn’t often. \u00a0Judy and her husband went off to bed. \u00a0Before long they were having sex. \u00a0It was obvious. \u00a0Tony and I were sitting in front of the television set, high on weed. \u00a0The living room was dark, just the glow of the television set. \u00a0He grabbed the remote control, and turned down the volume, which had the effect of amplifying the sounds from the master bedroom. \u00a0He looked at me, and didn’t break eye contact. \u00a0Just looked at me with the dead and hateful eyes of a Rottweiler, and didn’t say a word. \u00a0Looked at me until I got up and walked away, into the bedroom, closing the door. \u00a0Was he embarrassed? \u00a0Did he hate his mother for loving another man? \u00a0Who knows, but after all these years I know the look in his eyes while he waited for his mother to come home from work. \u00a0How he sat in the darkness with the television on and the volume turned down. \u00a0Sat for her, and waited.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I remember a boy named Tony Yee. \u00a0His father was estranged, and his mother remarried. \u00a0Her name was Judy Nathan. Tony and I first met in the sixth grade. \u00a0His family moved in next door from California, and he was an only child. \u00a0Their’s was a small ranch-style home on the corner of First and … Continue reading Dear Journal<\/span>