Alex and I, Growing Up in Cambria

My memories of Alex are fond, foggy childhood experiences. In our elementary years, I remember riding around in his mom's old white Volvo, with fruit punch stained seatbelts, that he convinced me still tasted of Capri-Sun. We, of course, both tested this theory by tasting said seatbelts, and they did indeed taste faintly of the sweet, sugared taste of that timeless fruit punch flavor, that chemical color and fructose essence of Red.

From pirate parties at Shamel Park to Hawaiian themed Lū'aus - Alex always found solace and comfort at the ocean. I forever associate leis, hawaiian shirts, straw hats and ukuleles with Alex and our childhood together. He and his mom, Shelley, inspired and encouraged me to create and express, to value our abilities as artists. Whenever I would come over, I knew it would be a creative and fun afternoon. This love of art and experience living and learning alongside each other kept us connected throughout the years.

Alex always felt like a brother to me. His 'worldly' experience of spending summers in Venice made him an expert in many areas that I - as a fairly sheltered kid - had no concept of. He was the one I went to when I first heard about "bad words" and he was the one I asked questions, pertinent inquisitive questions such as "why does m***** f***** mean something bad? and why are mothers involved?? If I put Mother in front of another word does it make that word bad too?". Important questions, as you can tell. And Alex always met me with kindness, though he didn't have much to say about the queries above other than "XUE. You can't say that! It's a BAD word". I was still very much confused as to why..

In terms of kindness and generosity, I would be remiss to omit that I once convinced him to give me some of the dollar bills in his money box - a fact that he never let me live down. It was in elementary school. We had finished a wrapping paper sale that awarded high sellers with the COOLEST most coveted prizes. That year we both ended up with little self-locking cashboxes with a simple combination lock. Mine was purple. I think his was blue. It was a running joke, a fun laugh, a silly memory, a few one dollar bills commemorating our grammar school days.

His mom, Shelley, used to host this amazing chalk art festival in San Luis Obispo, every year. He of course would help out, running chalk to artists, assigning each to their chalk spot. As a participating artist, I would always see his red head bobbing around in the crowd, talking to people, smiling, walking around, sipping a Jamba Juice smoothie. In fact, thanks to Alex, I was introduced to a new flavor of Jamba Juice. When we took a break from chalking we would go to Jamba and he was the first to let me in on a secret, a secret menu that is. I thought he was pulling my leg but after we ordered a "Pink Star" and "White Gummi" smoothie I was in awe...for years after I would only order the "White Gummi" smoothie. In the years following his death, I continued to participate in the remaining chalk art festivals but it was never the same. I found myself searching the throngs of people for his red hair, dreaming of chasing down a bobbing red head in the crowd just to realize that it wasn't him, that it would never be him again. I hold these chalk festival memories dear. Hot days spent in the sun, colored chalk covering the sidewalks, smeared on our faces, muddied palms and scratched up knees and fingers. Alex would always find me, new chalk palette in hand, freckled face, long legs, huge smile.

In High School, we shared first period Art Class together. Each morning Alex would come scooting in the door as the bells clanged, hair wet and salty from the sea, a smile on his face, grabbing bites of a snack as he entered the room. Freshmen year of high school we would go to the Cambria Skate Park and watch him skate around with friends. I remember riding the bus after school to downtown, picking up candy at the General Store, and spending the afternoon on that wooden ramp as our friends flew up, down and around that tiny halfpipe. What times.

The loss of Alex was shocking. I was on my way to Oregon to meet up with family to view the solar eclipse when I heard the news. I hopped on a plane alone, to go home, to mourn with my friends, to grieve. Those nights following the news, we all spent on the bluffs at Moonstone Beach. Flowers laid out with care, surf boards marking the spot, candles & lanterns flickering in the dark as we sat together on blankets, remembering him, trying to process, searching for comfort. We all met there, each night, unspoken attachment to this space, this place we last had with him. Pink Naked Ladies, vases full of these Cambria blooms, and each year, each spring, when these bulbs push forth their brilliant pink flowers, I remember fondly the years these blooms mark, the childhood we shared together, how small he made the world feel, the communities he touched, the people he impacted. The love he spread.

"The Chase" - Alex and Xue, Kindergarten

"Middle School Graduation" Alex & Xue, Graduation from Santa Lucia Middle School

"Say cheese" Alex & Xue at High School Graduation, Red in red