Long.Time.Gone
I intended to post this a couple/three weeks ago, on the 44th anniversary of John Lennon's murder, and the 20th anniversary of posting, basically, this exact message on that previously-mentioned, old-ass blog:
I could point to where I was when I heard some guy on the radio say John Lennon was dead. We - my father, mother, & sister - were in our car, just a few hundred feet from home. Lennon was killed at night, so it must have been the next day, and my parents must have already known. The sun was shining, but fading, like it was early-evening, or late-afternoon. We were in our (piece of Scheiße) tan Chevette. I was in the back, but I cannot recall which seat. After the announcer finished talking, I leaned forward, utterly confused, and aksed, "He might come back to life?" I cannot recall what the man said, but it must have been some kind of stupid joke or some kind of pseudo-religious babble, perhaps making fun of Lennon's Hindu phase, or something: Lennon was now gone forever - unless he's resurrected. Whatever was said, my parents didn't find it entertaining, and they quickly dismissed the DJ (and changed the channel) when they answered my question.
I still cannot think of Lennon's assassination without seeing the road ahead of us out of the windshield of that Chevy, and thru my abject confusion about how the fucking hell something could be alive again after dying.
I was 17.
No, I'm kidding. I was 3.