-Non Fiction-
After leaving my show tonight, I was driving home from Midvale, down i15. The road was pretty wide open, and I was feeling fairly good. For some reason, when I passed the Utah State prison near the point of the mountain tonight, that changed. I was looking at the Prison, and it brought to mind the juxtaposition of Law and Lawless, good and bad, right and wrong that has been in my life, and with it came memories of the many people I’ve known on one side or the other of those lines, whether the lines were real, or imaginary, made up by our society.

One person specifically stuck out as I looked at the gated yard surrounding the prison. A person that I haven’t seen in many years, but whom was one of my earliest true friends during my pre-adolescence and beyond. Certainly looking back now, I can see he was a much better friend than I had ever deserved. When I was probably 11 years old I moved from Santaquin, to Spanish Fork. I did not have any friends, and while I am really good at hiding it now, I was at that time, incredibly shy; having really low self-esteem brought on mostly from growing up in a broken home with poor male role models. So I was eager to make friends in my new town, even if I didn’t know how to do so. One of the first boys my age I met, and the friend I am referring to in this text, was a kid named Jason Fox.

Jason was a bright, energetic young man. Rough around the edges, and frequently in trouble for one thing or another. When we were kids, it was never anything serious as far as I know, but he was the kind of kid that seemed so cool, and the kind that your mother would warn you against hanging out with. I don’t remember exactly how I met Jason, but I do remember that he and I had a lot of fun together for a few years. We would swim in the canal, play video games at his house (crash bandicoot was our favorite), where he lived with his single mom and his little sister,I think he had two brothers too, but I never met them. We went dumpster diving, listened to loud music, ran all over town, and tore up our knees playing in local fields. We explored construction sites, and I even had my first scandalous look at t a Playboy magazine with him when we found one somewhere, and one of my fondest memories of Trick or treating at Halloween time was running all over western Spanish Fork until like 3 am with Jason and my younger brother Brice. I remember that Jason was dressed up in some old camouflage utilities, and I thought that was pretty awesome.

Jason never asked anything from me. He was gruff in some ways, and liked to show his affection the way most young boys do, by punching you in the arm, or making dirty jokes, but he always accepted me for who I was. And while I was too dumb to realize it at the time, I think he really valued my friendship. I never really saw him, black sheep, and prodigal son that he was playing or hanging out with many other kids. Jason was too big for our dumb little ton, and he lived on the edge.

Over the next few years, as we got older, I made some new friends, certain friends that fit the mold a little better of what a good little Mormon boy should be. Some of those friends didn’t get along with Jason, looking down on him and his rough ways and trouble maker attitude. I was the oldest of my siblings, and as such I felt it was my responsibility to be the serious one, to forsake the fun things that kids my age were doing, and to buckle down, to set the example for my brothers and sisters. To hold fast to the iron rod, and turn a blind eye to anyone that didn’t believe as I did. Jason and I grew distant from each other, though he remained friends with my little brother Brice.

Later as I grew older, i joined the Marine Corps, and while I was still a fresh faced Boot Private First class, doing nuclear blast reaction drills at MOPP 4 in the School of Infantry on Camp Pendleton, I received word that my brother Brice had been killed in a motorcycle accident. Our family was devastated, and I was flown home to attend the funeral. It was June, of 2003. At his funeral, I was astonished to see Jason Fox come in and sit in the back, escorted by two police officers, he himself in leg irons and hand cuffs, for some offense he had committed previously.

I hadn’t seen him in several years, but he was clearly heartbroken over my brother’s passing, and regardless of how embarrassed he must have been to attend in such a state, I see now how much he must have really cared about our family, and how broken he must have been at my brother’s passing, that he made every effort to arrange permission to attend the funeral, even incarcerated as he was.

After the funeral I went back to the School of Infantry, where my commanding officer gave me the opportunity to resign and get out of my contract. I carried on, and forgot about Jason once again, at least for a while. In 2006 I was married, I had a new little baby boy, Lucas, who is 8 years old now, and I had not long before graduated from the Police Academy before being fortunate enough to be hired by the Utah County Sheriff’s office. I hadn’t been working there very long, but I remember it was a bright, sunny fall morning. I had stopped at the S and S Texaco station in Spanish Fork on my way into work. I was in my crisp new deputy uniform and feeling pretty much like king shit of the universe.

As I walked out of the gas station to my car, I heard someone call out my name. It was Jason Fox. It had been 3 years since I had last seen him, at my brother’s funeral. I was surprised, and we reminisced a little bit, asking after each other’s health and the like. He seemed so happy to see me, and impressed by my uniform and new changes in life. He also seemed embarrassed that he was still struggling to get on his feet, having fought addiction, and been a frequent flyer at the jail, and I can’t help but think that he may have felt inadequate, or that I was looking down on him. I remember now looking back, the look in his eyes that I was oblivious to at the time… He was genuinely ashamed in that moment, his eyes asking me to forgive him for whatever offenses he may have committed, to forgive him and still care about him as the friends we had once been, and I…. I was aloof God dammit it, I was distant, and unmoved.

I was a family man, a man of the law! I couldn’t be seen to be socializing with some low life thug, some common criminal! So while I was polite, I kept that distance between us. I was better than him, and had to act my part.

After we parted I didn’t see Jason again, nor hear from him again. I learned later that he had been sentenced to go to prison for one thing or another, and in desperation, had hung himself with his bed sheets while at the jail.

When I found that out, I was shocked, and upset as it made me remember the time I had run into him at the gas station, a free man still. It made me remember his coming to my brother’s funeral humble and lowly as he had to share in our grief. It made me remember all the fun we had had as kids, and how when I had no one else. He was my friend anyway; I pushed those memories, those feelings aside, and ignored it for many years.

Already, it’s been 7 or 8 years since he killed himself, and I feel guilty at how alone, and desperate he must have felt in those final moments, with no one who cared, and nothing to look forward to. Tonight as I drove past that prison, it all flooded back. I weep silently now as I write this my wife asleep beside me, new baby lying on her chest. Weeping for all the things Jason never experienced, but more so because I realize that while I was trying to be such a “good guy,’ playing by all the rules society, religion, and peers put out for me, that I was a terrible friend, and a terrible human being. I let people who cared about me suffer by my indifference, and I turned my back on Jason, betraying him, when he needed someone, anyone, the most.

I cannot help but feel as though, that when I saw Jason at that gas station, if I had handled things differently, been more real, and returned the friendship he had always given me, that perhaps things would have turned out better for him.

I feel guilty now that I did not attend his funeral. That I do not now even know where he is buried, or whether his mom or sister are still around.

I feel guilty knowing that I returned the love of those people with my own selfishness, and so I weep silent, bitter tears knowing that it is too late to do anything about it, and I am sorry.

I am so very sorry Jason, that I was not a better friend to you.

“Jason Edward Fox, age 22, passed away Saturday January 27, 2007 in Spanish Fork. He was born July 30, 1984 in Payson, Utah to Charles Edward and Leslie Kaye Leifson Fox. He was the youngest of four children. Jason grew up and attended school in Nephi and Spanish Fork. He was most proud of his high school diploma. Jason was a beloved son, grandson, brother, nephew and uncle. He will be greatly missed. He is survived by a sister, Patrisha (Jeff Jarvis) Burnell, two brothers, Byron (Shanon) Garrett, and Darren (Viki Neil) Garrett, grandmother, Nelda Leifson, as well as several aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews. He was preceded in death by his mother and father, grandfather, George Leifson, and an uncle, Lloyd Leifson. A viewing for friends and family will be held Thursday, February 1st from 6:00 p.m. to 8:00 p.m. at the Holladay-Brown Funeral Home, 66 South 300 East, Santaquin. Private graveside services for immediate family and close friends will be held at the Santaquin City Cemetery Friday, February 2nd at 11:00 a.m. Family may call from 9:45 a.m. to 10:45 a.m. at the Holladay-Brown Funeral Home.