March 18th, 2006

(no subject)

Money Changes Everything.

This is Jon.

Jon was living in our house for a little over a month. He was an ideal addition to our household. In a house with three diverse individuals, all insanely unique, it's very hard for anybody to step in and not somehow tamper with the vibe we have going as roommates. When we had a kid by the name of DonAvonne living with us, things were sour because he had practically no personality and lived as a product of pretty much everyone and everything around him. Our moods were negative in his presence so eventually we told him to leave, and the contentment of our living situation returned. When Jon started living with us though, it was different. Jon's quirkiness complemented ours perfectly, and it was a match of four that seemed unbeatable. He was funny, caring, compassionate, and helpful. He hooked us up with random treats, like work-inducing pills for me, skate shirts for Bob, nightly cuddling for Bunny, and even bought a round of groceries for the four of us to enjoy. Jon had lived a tough life, and there seemed some uneasy things about him, but at the same time his blatant care for his friends and visible show of affection for those he was close to, us especially, gave us every reason to trust him and feel great about him being around us in our humble home. He became part of our tight crew, and started joining us in our everyday festivities that we always did together. We loved him, and although our house was small, it seemed more than big enough for the four of us to live comfortably and happily. Everything we normally did for each other we easily began doing for Jon, too. We wanted him to stay with us indefinitely.

But there were suspicious things about Jon. He by no means had lived easily, and he spent a good portion of his time hanging out in the bad parts of town. He'd come home with random "found" objects, like perfectly new hoodies and shirts and skate decks and shoes, bags of weed and varieties of obscure pills; the kind they give pregnant women when they're in labor. He'd go into the bathroom three times a day and be in there for a half an hour at a time, with no flushing of a toilet to follow. A couple hours later he'd pass out in outlandish positions with his shoes on, and couldn't be awoken by even the loudest of screams. I questioned it at first, but I had learned to put my trust in Jon because of all the ways he seemed to go out of his way for us and try to make us happy and repay us in any way he could for giving him a good place to stay and good friendships to live for.

Last night we finally put two and two and two and two and two together until we reached some number over three hundred. Many of our things were missing. Our favorite DVDs, some of which weren't even ours and we'd borrowed from a friend of ours in Daly City. A good stack of my CDs were gone, as well as an accumulation of Bunny's money that she'd realized had gone missing and hadn't wanted to believe was a result of Jon often mysterious tendencies. My knife given to my by my sister for Christmas, random items of clothing, video games, and perhaps Bunny's iPod for which we'd pinned Davit Abair for snagging... all these things were gone. We had not misplaced them, we had not brought them anywhere and forgotten them there- they were gone; vanished from our house entirely. When all was said and done, the damage reached well over three hundred dollars, a great number of our valuable possessions, and most of all, our trust. Jon's presence in our house raised some important questions. Most importantly, it made me wonder how many lifetimes worth of butchered trust I was going to have to endure until I could finally believe that people close to me were of decent mindset and personality. After everything we'd done for and given to Jon, he repaid us by pawning our things to make his own ends meet. He didn't need the money for food, and really he only spent a small portion of it on the weed he'd bring home at night after a visit to his buddies in the Tenderloin. He didn't need it for cigarettes, because he never bought any, only shared Bunny's Top rolllies and bummed Bob's Parliament Lights. He didn't need it for skateboard parts or new t-shirts or friendly gifts for us to make our day. Jon needed the money made from pawning our possessions for the insanely inappropriate and disturbing things he was doing every time he shut the door to our bathroom. And today after the hurt of realization, the mayhem of yelling, and the brutal stab of feeling completely betrayed by someone we loved and trusted, Jon packed his things and left, and we hoped never to see him again.