Collecting Souls

Al Green had a hole in his heart and knew he was going to die young. I think that's what made him so crazy. I tried to steer clear of him but his locker was right next to mine, so it was hard.

As a teenager, life is one long dramatic twist and it's very easy to believe in thin plots and superficial emotions. Al was very different in that his mortality was with him every day, clearing his eyes to see the world for what it really was. He was a voracious reader and was always giving me books by philosophers I had never heard of. When I found out my girlfriend was cheating on me he put a consoling hand on my shoulder and said, "Fuck her, man. She's going nowhere." and I believed him because he never told a lie. That's what got him into so much trouble.
I told Al I was having trouble at work with my boss. My boss was an alcoholic and would sit at the bar all night long and get drunk and then come into the kitchen just before I closed and scream and yell at me and the rest of the crew. He would push me around, daring me to hit him and then threaten to fire me if I raised a finger in his direction.
Al told me he'd take care of it. And he did. He came in and sat at the bar, beside my boss, and matched him drink for drink all night. When the alcohol had turned him into a raging lunatic Al challenged him to an arm wrestle and when they wrapped their hands together, Al used his free hand to punch him in the face until the man collapsed. The cops showed up and arrested Al, and as they dragged him out he smiled at me.
He was nuts but for some reason he liked me.
I asked him once why he did the things he did and he answered, "I'm dead already. What do I care?"

Karl was a different sort of crazy. He applied for a job one day and asked me to fill in his application because he couldn't read or write. I was surprised by that and felt sorry for him and gave him a job. I also asked my mom if he could live with us, for a while, because he had been sleeping in an old shack near the flea market. He didn't have a family, or a place to live, and he couldn't read or write. I wondered how that could happen in this age.
I took him to a party one night and when he ran out of cigarettes he went to the store and came back with four or five cartons. He handed them out smiling and laughing, and kept on smiling even as the police handcuffed him and took him away. He never tried to hide from anything.
I expected him to steal from me and he did, but I had done him a favour so he only stole things I didn't really need anymore. I was o.k. with that.
He and Al spent a night drinking together but didn't like each other for some reason. Their versions of crazy didn't match I guess. They left each other alone, though.
Karl was killed when he wrapped a motorcycle around a light standard. He didn't own a motorcycle so I assume he stole it.

I wonder sometimes why so many people I know are dead now. For a while I thought it might have something to do with me. You would too, believe me.
As it is, they are frozen, in my recollections, exactly as they were the last time I saw them.
Karl is looking for trouble just to test himself and take his anger out on the world and Al is pushing the limits of his understanding by peering into the dark side of his humanity, bravely facing all of his fears, knowing the end will come quickly.
And they are here, with me, now. I'm collecting souls and I don't know why. I'd like to think that there is a reason for it but that opens a can of worms I'm not ready to deal with yet. For now the question remains.