I met Derek early in 2025. Derek, Pruitt and I became fast friends. We had common cause, and bonded over an RPG with Pruitt in the lead. Dropkick Chin, the Bard, and Pike. Never trust an overly vain bard. It was the first time in a long time I’d made guy friends. They are great guys, and it felt good to trade stories and bond. There were hugs involved. It was a special moment in time that ended too soon.
We had to split to our respective worlds, but swore to keep in touch, and we did. Pruitt to a lesser extent, for he has a wife and three rather feral children. Thankfully, they’ve had their shots. We all stayed in contact, and Derek and I seemed to talk more and more.
He invited me up to his place on July 4th last year to go to a July 4th party. In the outer boondocks of Athens, GA, I attended a pool party with furries and a beautiful woman, Karly Ann. I tried to talk Derek out of it, but the man was persuasive, and who can say no to a rootin’ tootin’, crayon-eating Semper Fi? If I hadn’t gone, I’d never have met Karly, and we wouldn’t be married. All the more thankful for Derek coming into my life.
Not long after this, Derek and I became roommates. We started a small business together, and had fun. That’s when the cracks began to form. The demons I had hoped he’d vanquished reared their ugly head and demanded to be fed. That’s the thing with demons: they come calling when you can least spare attention for them. He tried to hide this new dance from Karly and me, but we could see it. We played the game that we play so well in this world. We pretended not to see it.
Yet, as much as we pretended, the veil has to drop at some point. Derek moved out to the streets. It wasn’t much of a change, because he spent most of his time on the streets. His spot was bare. He hung out with the worst elements of the streets, and the bare-knuckle street survivor came out. He’d come by high and starving. We’d watch him rant and rave on whatever he was on, then crash for 10 to 20 hours, eat 5,000 to 7,000 calories upon waking, then head back to the streets. He embraced them tighter and tighter, and nothing Karly and I could do would break him away.
His birthday came up earlier this year. I’d asked him what he wanted. Mexican food. Chorizo cheese dip and a huge nacho platter. My stomach hurt just watching him stuff himself. Parts of my friend Derek shone through. He was goofy and funny, pissed off our server, and we had a great time. I tried again to break that siren song of the streets, and again, I rolled snake eyes. We parted ways, and that was the last time I saw my friend Derek.
The drug-infested Derek showed up a few times, and finally I had to break contact with him. Tough love, I said to myself. It broke my fucking heart. He’d call and text, and I muted his notifications. I’d still read and listen just in case, and I stuck to my guns of no contact.
Then the night of March 21st came. I thought I had unmuted Derek. Maybe it was after my bedtime. Whatever the reason, my phone didn’t ring. A few seconds of dead air followed. I listened to it the next morning. Maybe he butt-dialed me. I tried to call him back, but it went to voicemail. I thought no more about it.
About a week later, one of our downstairs neighbors asked if Derek and Shay had died. We hadn’t heard anything, but dread filled me. Derek had only gone this dark one time. He’d gotten arrested by MARTA Police for jumping on the tracks. We had hoped that was the case again, but nothing showed in the jails. We tried to contact the Fulton and DeKalb medical examiners, but again we struck out. No info.
Then another person in my life, who’s a mental health professional, contacted me asking if Derek had passed. It wasn’t damning proof, but damn, it made us believe it. Yet we held out hope. No phone, email or text. No TikToks. Pruitt had no contact. I’d do searches every so often, looking for jail records or death notices. Nothing.
Then three weeks ago, on a whim, Karly searched and found him. A funeral home in Palmetto, GA had posted a small obituary saying Derek had passed on March 21. We knew Shay had passed that day, so it wasn’t a surprise, but actually knowing... It kicks you in the balls. That five to ten seconds of dead air: was that his last moment on this mortal plane, and he reached out to me? Could I have done anything, or was the weave of that moment set? I will never know.
Karly, Pruitt and I plan to visit his final resting place soon. We will get him a grave marker if he doesn’t have one, and pay our last respects. I miss him so much. He’s been dead now six months. Yet he really started this journey twelve months ago. He chose to take on the mean streets, and the street doesn’t lose often.
I can lament over his death. To what purpose? He’s gone, and I pray to a much more peaceful place. Derek took care of me. He was a shoulder to lean on when I was so sick last year. He changed my life forever when he introduced me to Karly. I have nothing but gratitude for him.
I wish I had known him more. I just found out not long ago that he had two teenage sons. He never opened up, never truly spoke about himself. I wish he had shared his woe. It would have been a burden shared, and lessened, not a burden weighted.
I love you, Derek. You will be missed.
rasp1.com · also me: jasondpike.com