My Friend Carlo
We discussed many things
Carlo, you and I were childhood friends.
We seemed to do everything together, and our neighborhood was our world. But even this world can be big, and somehow we managed to drift apart.
Much later in our lives, discussing our childhood, we talked about:
Sitting on our Tonka toys and riding them down your sloped driveway. It was an asphalt driveway that had seen better days. The gravel in it made it rough which meant our bodies could only tolerate a few rides before we went off to do other things.
The day you accidentally whacked my five-year-old head with a Louisville Slugger. My mom freaked out. My dad frantically drove me to the ER, my Davey Crockett shirt complete with fringe, was covered in blood. I got five stitches above one of my eyes.
How we took up smoking by swiping cigarettes from our parents. They all smoked. We would smoke near a concrete wash where no one could see us. The last time we went there some bigger kids threatened us, but we ran away.
How you were a master of sound effects and how you would do them just to make me laugh.
How we started a fire on a hillside but stomped it out as the flames singed our socks.
How your parents shipped you off to a military academy.
… and we talked about a great many other things.
Then after drifting apart, we were friends again well into our teenage years.
Much later in our lives, discussing our teenage years, we talked about:
Driving recklessly in the rain.
You, me, Lisa, and Heather, and the fun we had hanging with these girls.
Your karate, and how disciplined you were with it.
How much you hated cigarette smoke.
Your red VW bug and how well you kept it up.
What a jerk you were when you got that job at the liquor store. The two predators you worked with were creeps and a bad influence on you.
The day I came up to your house to see your mom hugging you. You told me she was leaving, divorcing your dad, and going to live with her orthodontist boss and his money. Eventually, they got married.
The summer we spent on your stepfather’s huge sailboat, and all the work we did to keep it up. That provided our first taste of unsupervised freedom.
The marijuana we discovered at your stepfather’s beach house.
… and we talked about a great many other things.
We drifted apart again, but then we were friends again through our twenties.
Much later in our lives, discussing our friendship through our twenties, we talked about:
How your sister’s marriage was a sham. You said it was because she was crazy.
The women we were interested in.
The good and the bad of our jobs.
How you were in love with Linda and how beautiful she was.
How happy I was that you asked me to be in your wedding.
How nervous you were just before your wedding and how we, the ushers and best man pretended we lost the ring while on the altar. We all thought it was funny, even if you didn’t.
… and we talked about a great many other things.
Then we drifted apart.
I stayed put while you moved to Colorado. I would only hear dribs and drabs about you after that. You had a couple of kids. You and Linda divorced. You and your sister got a pile of money after your parents’ deaths.
We were only face to face just once more. I went to a seminar and trade show in Denver, and I found your name in the hotel room phonebook. I called and left a message. You eventually called back, and we made plans for lunch outside the Denver convention center.
The next day, you picked me up. You suggested we go to a strip joint to eat. I declined. I wasn’t crazy about those places and didn’t trust the food. I didn’t have that much time before I had to get back to the seminar, so I suggested the Burger King near the convention center.
We grabbed a booth after ordering. It was then I got my first good look at you. I hoped my face didn’t register my surprise. You looked like you had been living hard. Your face was drawn, and your skin looked tight. It made you look much older than you were.
We talked about you living in Denver and you said you were happy there. You and your daughters rode your jet skis almost every weekend.
I told you about the motorcycle accident that almost killed me. As we talked about that, you lit up a cigarette. I started to laugh. After your lectures to me about how bad they were and your obsession with being fit. I finally quit, and you took it up.
… and we talked about a great many other things.
Then came the day I was told that you had died. You had a bleeding condition that you didn’t take care of and one terrible night you bled out. You did this because you didn’t trust doctors due to a previous bad experience with them.
Our mutual friend told me the story. He was angry with you for the pain you caused.
I wasn’t. I was let down.
Now, I have reached the point that is much later in our lives, and we are not discussing anything. It is just me talking to myself, my voice going nowhere and reaching no one.
The hard part for me is that once I’m gone, our story will be over and given to God.
And that will be that.
