The journey began long, long ago.

Within the next week, I will settle myself into a large, crowded theater and continue a story that began when I was five. A spectator of the lives of people who don't exist here--they are in a galaxy far, far away. Like millions and millions of people who grew up when I did, Star Wars is inseparable from real life sometimes. We all had aspirations connected to Han Solo, Luke Skywalker or Princess Leia. In many cases, these characters swirled into one crazy world view. I find myself, today, with parallels to the saga--both with the original and the still-unfolding prequels.

Three years ago when Episode 1 came out, friends of mine camped out at the big 24-plex where an old drive-in theater used to be to get tickets. The first three movies played for a while at that old drive-in theater, and Episode 1 lingered throughout the summer of 1999 at the huge mall of movies. I saw the new movie twice in the first days of release and probably saw it about five times in the theater. Not because it was the greatest achievement in cinema since the beginning of time, just because. No matter how this story is told, I want to know the story. The world is so much a part of mine that missing the story because some of it doesn't sit so well in my stomach doesn't make sense.

The real world isn't kind a lot of the time either.

Strange characters with bad accents come along and try to steal my shine. Pawn shop owners have Mother's Day sales. The best girls fall for the idiotic assholes. Long-time friends take trips they never come back from.

A bit over seven months ago, a former roommate and good friend fell to the dark side. Except in this world, the dark side isn't a place you come back from. The dark side is the end. Death.

I don't see shimmering images of my old friend telling me to find Yoda and go to the Dagobah system. I don't hear voices at night or have any comfort that there is anything left of my dead friend other than memories. It's better now. I can get asked about Brian without breaking completely down. In some cases, I keep the thoughts to the rational side--pushing the emotion away because it's not really a good idea to break down at work or in the arms of an inquisitive young woman.

But, like the departed Obi-Wan Kenobi in Empire and Return, he is always there. Peeking over my shoulder and affecting many of the things I do. He's back there somewhere and will never go away.

Tuesday of this week would have been his 27th birthday. I got a call last week from his mother. Family and friends will raise a toast around seven on that night, and we'll all try, as the beer glasses clink, not to break down. Someday, and I can't really say when, a genuine smile will come to my face when I think of old friend. Not that smiles don't come, but it's not my first reaction. Still. The memory lingers, and I'm still not able to always think good thoughts about Brian's death. I still see it almost as a failure of mine, as he was almost a student of mine. A student in the lessons of life. Only, in the end, I am the one to learn from him.

The new Star Wars will partially center on the descent of young Jedi Anakin Skywalker (he who will be Darth Vader) to the Dark Side. A much-younger-than-Alec Guinness Obi-Wan Kenobi will find that he is not the teacher he thought he was. He will eventually lose his student (all the way in the third installment) and force himself to hide and regret past mistakes in a desert cave. Luckily for me, the mistakes of my student will not send the world into a time of chaos and evil.

The journey is not yet complete.

I climbed to the top of the mountain yesterday with my erstwhile roommate. We stood on the edge as heavy winds pushed up against us so forcefully that it was hard to breath and stare into the wind at the same time. It felt as though if I would have jumped, the wind--no, the Earth itself--would have picked me up and put me right back to where I launched myself from. I didn't test this theory, however. While I do feel the force at times, I don't always trust it to act in my favor.

As I ran back down the trail, bounding in huge leaps through an incline filled with rocks and dirt, I knew that I wasn't anywhere near the end.

The journey continues.

Matt Worley, family and friends will toast Brian Chavez at O'Niell's in Nob Hill at seven on Tuesday.