Looking back on those bygone days, I think one of my most favorite/entertaining/un-fucking-believable memories would be the time, we had come into a little bit of money. Enough to buy food, pot and LSD. We were coming back from collecting everything, but before we started home, John came up with the fantastic idea to go up on Red Mountain, where the transmission towers live, because there was a killer view of the city. Being terrified of heights, I was not on board with the plan, but John could not be talked out of it, so up the hill we drove. About halfway, we passed a cop car going down in the opposite direction. I considered this to be a sign we needed to abort this mission, but John shrugged it off. Oh, and did I mention, we had already dosed and way on our way into an LSD haze, which I guess is what made this excursion so appealing to him and why there was just no talking him out of it. Once we made it to the top of the hill, and John had no luck prying my stiff and frightened body out of the car, he finally gave up and we started making our way back down the hill only to find our path blocked by the aforementioned cop car. The officers got out of their vehicle and John knew the drill. He rolled down the window, and in his slow growl of a voice asked, ''Is there a problem officer?'' They asked to see his license, and then requested he leave the vehicle and come with them. Without hesitation, John complied and I watch as he left our car, and followed the officers, who then put him into the back seat of the squad car. Here is where it gets interesting. Little did the cops know, hidden in John's pants was a quarter of pot and I believe at least 10 hits of acid. It wasn't all for us, mind you, we had people and a party waiting for us back at the house. I just sat there, watching, waiting to be arrested. I could see the top of John's curly hair, but I couldn't tell what might be going on. How I managed to keep my cool, I will honestly never know. I remember thinking, if I lit a cigarette, I would look casual, like ''Hey, no big deal guys! You just keep him in there as long as you want, I'm just going to kick back, have a smoke and plot how I was going to call my grandmother and convince her to come bail me out.'' Because, the longer I sat there, the more I just knew we were going down. It might have only been a few minutes, but it felt as if I'd literally been sitting there my whole life. With great relief, I saw John walking back to our car. His blond curls bouncing as he walked. He slid back into the driver's seat and whispered assuringly, ''We're fine.'' In fact, he knew we were fine the minute they got him in the car. They just wanted to give him a stern talking to about why people are no longer allowed to go hang out with the transmission towers. They ran his priors and at the time, he was clean, so we were let off with a warning. When we got back to the house, we took turns excitedly reliving the details for our friends. Our brush with hard time. I don't know if it was my luck or his that saved us that night, but we lived to tell the tale.
After our tumultuous break up, we lost touch. It was years before I would see him again. I was at a gas station on Southside where my car up and died. I popped the hood and stared at the engine like I had a damn clue what to do about it, when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
''Hey man, is your battery dead?'' (Everyone was either ''Hey man,'' or ''Dude'') I slowly turned to see John, looking dishevelled and barefoot in the middle of an Alabama summer. ''Uh, yeah'' I managed to say, completely stunned to see him and not sure whether I wanted to run, but then I didn't want to leave my car behind. He leaned in, fiddled around with the battery and did some kind of MacGyver trick, that somehow brought my battery back to life. (I would try to explain what he did, but it goes well beyond my realm of comprehension) I thanked him, and he said, ''It's the least I could do. I put you through hell, kid'' Not really knowing what I should say to that, I just shrugged and replied, ''It's OK.'' We said our goodbyes, and that was the last I heard from him. Over the years I'd heard stories and rumors. Heard he'd been in prison, but none of this could be verified.
With time, my anger began to dissipate until it had nothing left. So, when he found me on Facebook in 2009, I was more than happy to welcome him back into my life. I'm grateful I did. Seems John had finally, after years of bad decisions and dealings with the wrong path, found his way to redemption. He was now extremely sweet and kind. I always knew that person was there, that's why I fell in love with him many years ago. And without all the bullshit, he could finally become the person he was meant to be. Over the years, through the wonders of the internet, we were able to make peace and become close friends. He and I would wear that chatbox out at times. He was there for me, cheering me on. John also had a wonderful wit and sense of humor about his own self and the things he'd done in the past. You know how people always say, ''You'll laugh about this someday.'' That's where we were. We could laugh at those stupid kids, because we had come out the other side and were better for it. Sure, we did some crazy shit, but we had such great stories to tell. He and I planned to write a book together. I still will. For him.
My last most favorite memory of John happened about a year ago. I'd gotten a not so kind e mail from an old boyfriend, accusing me of ''bullying'' him into the relationship and making me out to be a real monster. It messed with my head and I went to John, being a former boyfriend himself, to ask if I were really that bad. He said I wasn't and assigned most of the blame to himself. But, he said this,
''Hell, we all have issues, but at least you can look in the mirror and say, 'I might be crazy, but that's OK, and I'M OK!' and if people don't like it, fuck'em and feed'em fish heads, you know what I mean? Don't let some jackass bring you down because he's a miserable little fucker who obviously can't handle a real women, (that's you, btw) Don't sweat the small stuff, kid.''
That meant so much, coming from him. We had found peace with each other, and he was one of my strongest, loudest cheerleaders. And I know he was for others as well. I never told him how much his friendship meant to me. I wish I'd told him. I hope he knew.
I'm saddened beyond belief I will never get to see him again. Hug him. Smoke pot with him. Listen to the Grateful Dead with him. But, I will never, ever forget him. And when I think of John Motes and his impact on my life, it will be with nothing but fondness and genuine love.
Rest in peace my dear friend. You will always have a place in my heart.
''Fare you well, fare you well
I love you more than words can tell
Listen to the river sing sweet songs
to rock my soul''
