This Body is Bullshit

I just spent a few hours with Drew because I needed him. I was still feeling out of sorts—tight chest, depressed, stuck in my own head—and he was the person I could lean on. Sometimes you just need that friend, the one who grounds you without you having to explain.

Drew and I go way back—to high school. I was a sophomore, he was a freshman, and I was “going out” (as we said then) with his childhood best friend and neighbor. That’s how we met. Pretty quickly, Drew became my friend too. He even dated one of my girlfriends for years (on-again, off-again), so our lives stayed connected.

He was always the wild man. The first person I ever did psychedelics with. The one with the epic house parties—huge bonfires, a pool, a piece of property made for teenage chaos. We had a special connection from the start.

There was a stretch when we drifted apart, mostly when I was with Grace’s dad. Drew would get drunk and leave hilarious, ridiculous (sometimes a little too sexy) messages on my answering machine in the middle of the night. Let’s just say Grace’s dad wasn’t a fan. But Drew understood. We always cared about each other, even when we weren’t in touch.

I still remember being nine months pregnant and running into him at a graduation party after not seeing him for a long time. His face lit up, eyes wide at how huge I was. He thought it was hilarious and wonderful at the same time. We laughed. It felt like no time had passed.

That’s the thing about Drew—he’s not just a friend. He’s my only male best friend, which feels rare. We can be raw and emotional and vulnerable with each other in ways we aren’t with anyone else. We tell each other everything. He’s family.

But Drew’s story isn’t easy. Not long after college, he had a skiing accident. He broke his neck and was paralyzed—“from the triceps down,” as they put it. He can move his arms but lost fine motor skills. He went from being this outdoorsy, physical, larger-than-life guy—skiing, rafting, bodybuilding, construction—to suddenly having to relearn how to live.

I’ll never forget visiting him at RIC when he was in a halo. It was heartbreaking. But Drew being Drew, he didn’t lose his humor—or his perverted streak. Nurses would give him sponge baths, and he’d tell them, “Well, you’ve got your boobs in my face—what do you expect?” That’s just Drew. He found a way to laugh, even when everything had changed.

The harder part wasn’t his sense of humor—it was people. People pulled away. They didn’t know what to say or how to act, so they disappeared. The guy who had always been the life of the party was suddenly alone when he needed people most. That part still makes me angry for him.

It took a long time, but Drew found his way back into the world. Social again, going out, living life. He still parties a little harder than he should sometimes (I’ve yelled at him plenty for the next-morning apology tours he has to make), but that’s Drew.

Over the years we’ve had so many moments I hold close. Staying up until 2 or 3 a.m. in his van, playing “Name That Tune” with my iPod, only three seconds per song. One of the funniest concert stories ever: we were on our way to Pearl Jam, stuck in traffic, hot as hell, and he asked me to pour some water on his head. Out of all the bottles, I grabbed the one filled with vodka he planned to smuggle in. Straight vodka. On his head. We laughed even though he was pretty irritated with me.

More recently, he had another brutal surgery—one that could’ve taken him out. He spent months in the hospital. I went to see him as often as I could, and even then, we found ways to laugh. One time I finally got him out for a walk down by the lake. We stopped at a café, and there he was, hospital bands still on his wrist—including a DNR one—having a drink like he’d just strolled in from the office. I don’t know what they thought I broke him out of, but we were quite the sight.

I’m grateful every day that Matt isn’t jealous of Drew, that he understands how deep this bond is. Drew even stood beside us at our wedding, part of our family in every way that matters. And Matt and I have often said—if anything ever happened to his mom, Drew could come live with us. He is ours.

Drew is more than a friend. He’s my brother. My history. My witness. My family.

I don’t know what I’d do without him. And I realize I don’t spend enough time with him.