Some devastating news has recently come to my attention, and I needed a place
to share my feelings about it.
I know that traditionally, I’ve been known by some as a right-wing jackass,
by others, a cold-hearted womanizer, and to a few, a mixture of both. I won’t
bother trying to dissuade anyone, because you’ll believe what you will. All
I ask is that you try and put that aside, as I share a little about my dying
friend.
It was probably sometime in the late 80′s, maybe the early 90′s when we first
met. Oddly enough, it was at a drugstore near the magazines. In a wash of
cosmetics ads, home improvement guides, magazines about BMX bikes I could
never possibly afford on my paperboy wages, and stuffy news magazines, we
stood together.
Thinking back, I can’t say I remember exactly what I was doing at the
pharmacy. Maybe my mom and I were getting a prescription for my asthma, or
headaches. Or maybe we were getting insulin for her diabetes. Heck, I may have
tagged along simply for the sake of going somewhere.
In any case, there I was, and there we met.
As it happened, we were both entranced with a story about Bat Boy — or was
it a new Elvis sighting? An alien landing, perhaps? No matter, we had found
temporary solace in the “news” of the unusual and otherwise ignored. It was
a shining moment in time, to find that my nerdocity was not mine alone, and
that within this world, there were people who simply weren’t satiated with
glossy pages and here-today-gone-tomorrow consumer suggestion.
After our initial meeting, we had made a pact to see each other at the
pharmacy every week or so, and for a few months, we were able to do so. That
is, until the pharmacy closed down in the name of progress. South Lyon needed
a new post office, and Mr. Spencer needed to retire. A perfect match.
We grew apart shortly thereafter. High school was coming up, and with coming
of age, it became less cool to be seen with certain people and certain things.
Sadly, I was too blinded by my successful sprints from social obscurity to
realize I had lost a good friend.
Progressing through my high school career, I found myself in need of a car.
This meant that I also found myself in need of a job, and fortunately for
yours truly, I managed to find both. No longer would I slave behind a host
stove at Dolly’s, and I would trade my flour-caked neon turquoise polo for
a fresh, clean grey one. I had arrived. I was a grocery bagger. Yes, the world
was full of possiblities.
And what’s more, it was at the grocery store where I would meet a girl more
jaded than me. A girl older than me. A girl more experienced than me. Going
out with her wasn’t simply my desire, it was a requirement. By now I had cast
aside virtually all memory of my dear friend from days past.
The world (which in my mind at the time, was no more vast than South Lyon,
Novi, and Pinball Pete’s) truly was my oyster. I had my car. I had my job.
I had my girl. Virtually every whim that could be accommodated between the
hours of 3:00 and midnight on $4.25 an hour was at my beck and call.
Then, tragedy struck.
The girl decided she didn’t want to be mine. The car broke down. The joy of
going to work had faded. I was, in a word, devastated. In such a short period
of time, the walls of my teenage empire had come crashing down faster than
I had built them.
One night, distraught and trying to avoid my now ex-girlfriend, my friend was
before me, as a ray of light in the desolate black hole that had now
encompassed my very being.
Memories of the past came to me as nicotine from my very first cigarette. We
went to the break room with visions of Bill Clinton being advised by “space
aliens” and the current status of our good friend Bat Boy.
We had reconnected, and picked up as though time stood still.
Our friendship continued for years. Despite new jobs, new people, new
experiences, we managed to keep our weekly rapport until we were in our 20′s.
Of course, once you’re in your 20′s, all bets are off. Friendships are hard
to maintain as it is, and I’m sure it isn’t news to anyone that
twentysomething growing pains are some of the most severe.
That said, we still met up from time to time, but the mystique and intrigue
had passed, and we were mere acquaintances.
I got the news today. My friend is expected to die next week. At this stage,
there’s really nothing that can be done, barring some sort of divine
intervention. No medicine, spell, or silver bullet will cure my friend’s
disease.
And while I sit here trying to come to terms with this, I feel as though I’m
to blame. Granted, I didn’t cause this to happen directly. However, my neglect
and lack of support over recent history has left my friend abandoned in a
world where friends grow further and fewer between.
The pharmacy where we met remains a post office to this day, and our grocery
store was demolished, rebuilt, closed, and purchased. Our stomping grounds
are gone, as so many stomping grounds have given way to wireless communication
and the internet.
Our connections simply weren’t the same anymore, and we no longer traveled
in the same circles.
So now I’m counting the days, and soon the hours until the very end. And when
the time comes, I’ll make a pilgrimage to the nearest pharmacy or grocery
store. I’ll stand there by the magazines, and I’ll remember that day we met;
no doubt, choking back tears the entire time.
I will miss you, Weekly World News.
