On a whim, I decided to look up some of my old road dogs and Zach came to mind. I looked him up and found out about his overdose. And it breaks my fucking heart. He was a brilliant artist. He was funny. He was loving.
I met him when I was 17 and he was 19. I had such a hard time being a little waif chick on the streets and when I met him and his friend Walter on Haight in San Francisco, they took me in and gave me a family and protected me. But there was nothing that could protect Zach. We all used to shoot dope together and despite being stuck in a horrible addiction with him, I knew he was better than the life we led.
His recklessness scared me. I was with him on his birthday when he turned 19. We were all in LA, near Hollywood, and wanted to celebrate his birthday with him. But when we woke up, he was gone. We found him later that night, high as a kite on speed, drunk on alcohol, and ready to shoot dope. I went to sleep that night next to him and told him he deserved better. He said he didn't want to be a junkie anymore, but couldn't see a way out. None of us could. But I knew in my heart if Zach's reckless behavior continued, the kid that I called part of my family would be another casualty of the streets.
The next night he was high on speed and we were waiting at a bus stop to take us to Wilmington to visit our traveling buddy's family. Zach wanted to draw a picture of me. He pulled out a black ballpoint pen and a spiral notebook and drew an amazingly detailed picture of me. It was dark and moody, full of heavy lines that nearly ripped the paper in places. The intensity he felt while drawing may have partially been the speed, but it was also his passion for art. I knew he had incredible talent that he could use as his ticket out of the streets.
When the bus came, he was so deep into drawing that while me and our friend got on the bus, he didn't get on and was left behind. I wanted to get off at the next stop and run back, but our friend said he'd be fine. I went to sleep that night and prayed to every god out there to keep him safe and to help him get better and change his life.
I remember every night for months, I kept saying to myself, "I wish you got on the bus with us, Zach." I felt like he was this lost boy, just as lost as all of us, myself included, and that we needed to protect each other. I felt like I wanted to hold him close and keep him safe and never lose him. But I couldn't. And it hurts me so deeply to know that no one could help him but himself. Nothing could save him.
I kicked my addiction and got off the streets, but never stopped thinking of him. He taught me so much and if it wasn't for him, I might not be alive today. He was my family. We traveled, slept, ate, and survived together. It breaks my heart. I was always hoping to see him again and find him healthy and happy. He deserved the world. I loved him.
It angers me that bad things happen to good people. Zach wanted to kick dope but couldn't seem to find a way to crawl out of the hole he dug for himself. I am truly glad that he will never get dope sick again. That he will never worry about food or cops or getting his shit stolen. Or copping dope. Or making money to support his habit. I am glad he was able to have kids and love them with all his heart.
So many people met him and saw him a certain way. Maybe as a junkie or a drunk or a funny guy... But I saw him as my family and the one person who took me in and never asked for anything in return. This is the man I remember. I trusted him with my life. I pray that someday I will see him again: happy, healthy, full of life, and drawing pictures to his heart's content. That is what he always deserved. He always deserved the best.
I love you, Zach.