I remember.
I remember the day the news came out. The crowd that gathered at Red Square to talk about Jonathan. To be angry for him, to mourn him, to remember him. I remember sitting in the hospital, scrolling through the pictures, the footage. I remember hearing the stories. I remember the first meeting we had for him. I remember the crowd that came, filling the room. I remember the candlelit walk and the potluck, so many people gathering to talk about him, to celebrate him. Walking to the smoke pit, surrounding the table and listening to his favorite music. So many people coming together for him. And I remember how each month, each memorial, those numbers dwindled. We stood there staring at the same table, watching flowers die, watching food mold, watching dust collect on pictures and offerings.
And I remember asking myself, “Where did you go?” Those many people who came to support, who said “Is there anything I can do?”, who spoke about how they didn’t know him but wish they did. I remember sitting at a table at the Block Party, handing out flyers for the memorial. I remember having to flag people down, just to get acknowledgment. I remember talking about him, asking “Do you know who Jonathan Rodriguez is”, and hearing the response: “Is that the carbon monoxide guy?” I remember saying yes even though it made my chest hurt, offering a flyer for the next memorial. And I remember the people who looked uncomfortable, who said no. Those who can afford not to care anymore, or who never cared at all in the first place. To be so disconnected from the world around you, that you can’t even acknowledge the person who died on the campus you walk on. The apartments you live in. You walk the same routes he did, your steps line up, and you ignore them. I remember.
And I remember how excited I was to meet Jonathan, the guy my best friend was raving about. I remember how kind he was from the beginning. I remember watching them fall in love, how happy I was for both of them. I remember the drives to Madres, to the Wiggle Room, Spirit Halloween. I remember taking those first pictures of him, in their stupid Luigi clown costume on Halloween. And more than anything, I remember the last time I hugged him, that Saturday before life turned sour. These are things I can’t forget. These are things I cannot afford to forget. And I cannot forget how detached people became. How so suddenly, we were the only ones talking about it. The only ones coming to the memorial. These consistent faces that I’ve become so grateful for. But I can’t help thinking about those who can no longer afford to care. But no, they repost the memorial on Instagram, they like the post, they make sure their followers know that they care. But when we need their presence most, as a community, they’re nowhere to be found. You can only care for so long. Life moves on, you move on. But we don’t. We watch the dust collect, we watch the flowers die, the trash gathers, glass on the floor. We can’t forget. Why can you?
