Maybe its the season, maybe its middle age, or maybe its just the tides of
time, but for some reason I have been thinking a lot about three very
different friends of mine from the past.

I lived at an Air Force Base in Massachusetts when I was in elementary and
middle school, and my two closest friends were Kenny and Mike. Interestingly
enough, they didn't know each other well; they ran in different circles, but
they were each important to me. Like the imaginary devil and angel that sits
on people's shoulders in cartoons, Mike and Kenny were diametric opposites.
Kenny was a bad boy; he was smoking cigarettes and shoplifting Playboy
magazines back when the rest of us were still eating Peanut Butter
sandwiches our moms packed for us for lunch. He and I did some seriously
horrendous things back in the day. His house was always a bit messy; his mom
was a sort of lost child, too much make-up and always a nailfile in hand.
His dad was another slave to the military, usually absent, and when he was
present he had a dangerous temper. Of course, school wasn't Kenny's strong
suit, and my most stark memory of Kenny was him coming to school the day
after report cards came out with his entire head black and blue, both eyes
blackened, his lips swollen. He was sullen and withdrawn, and I could only
sit by him on the bench at lunch while he ate in silence. I remember
realizing for the first time that there was a force in his life that was
bigger than him, and that he had secrets that I would never know.

Mike, on the other hand, was the most generous, open, happy and
well-balanced kid I ever met. He was my best friend, but he was also pretty
much everyone's best friend. All the kids invited him to every party, every
ski weekend, and every activity. He lit up a room when he came in, and
everyone wanted to hang out with him. Whenever I would sneak over to his
house to watch 'Dark Shadows', amazed that his parents were so easygoing
that they would let us watch it, he would always let me sit in the big
overstuffed chair, and bring us cokes and snacks. He made me feel special
and unique, always having time to hear my stories, to chase each other
around the fields, and to pick me for sides when the gang was playing
kickball. One time, when one of the most popular girls in the class was
having a party, somehow I got invited. I was so nervous and insecure about
feeling included that I told Mike, "I'm nervous about going." "Why would you
be nervous?" he asked, incredulously. I said "I'm afraid I'll come down the
stairs and people will say 'awww rats, Buck's here!'" and he said "If anyone
says that, you turn around and walk right out and I'll walk right out with
you!" Its been more than 30 years, and I still think of that moment, and am
amazed at what an incredibly selfless friend he was.

In the summer of my 7th grade year, all of our families got transferred away
from the Air Force Base. My dad moved us to Maine, and Kenny and Mike both
moved to California; Mike to LA, Kenny to San Francisco. Back in the 70s,
before internet and when cross-country telephone calls were much more than a
little kid could afford, this was like moving to another planet. We promised
that we would track each other down when we were grownups, and that we'd
always be friends, but the reality that I had lost them hit during the long
drive to Maine. I remember crying; wondering if I'd ever have friends as
good as those guys again in my life.

High School came and went, as did college. While I was in college, I made
friends with Rand. He was an amazing free spirit; happy-go-lucky and
talented as all get out. He paddled a whitewater canoe he designed and built
himself, drove an antique car he rebuilt from scratch, and lived in a very
cool tent in the woods year round. He was always like a King, walking with a
very self-assured strut that made the guys admire him and drove the women
crazy. I never knew anyone as successful with the women as him; he had a
magnetism that was unexplainable. I remember his wedding, a very funky
alternative affair held at a rural site near a guest resort in the Maine
woods. As we were walking out to the parking lot to drive out a river where
Mike and his new wife had invited a dozen of us to travel on a week-long
canoe trip with them on their honeymoon, a lovely girl walked across the
parking lot and came right up to Rand and hit on him! Right in front of the
wedding party. I was amazed. Years later, he and Marilyn moved to Oregon,
where he started a tree servicing company. He was the epitome of the
self-made man, who lived by his own rules, who created his own world and
ruled it. He built their house, they had two very well-balanced and
wonderful kids, and his circle of friends grew to the hundreds. His yard was
filled with sculptures he made, and his house was always filled with music.

I tracked down Kenny when I was in my late 20s. I moved to the west coast,
and on a whim I checked out a San Francisco phonebook. Surprisingly enough,
there he was listed in the book! I called him up and next thing you know, I
was hitchhiking out to SF to reconnect.

Kenny had been dishonorably discharged from the Marines. He had been caught
doing drugs, had beat up a whore, and been given the boot. He had a job
working in a chicken processing factory for a good hourly wage, cutting the
bad parts off of the worst of the birds. He'd spend 10 hours a day with a
knife, slicing up dead chickens, covered in blood and guts, and the other 14
hours a day on the couch in his rented house, doing bong hits and eating
speed. I spent 3 days hanging out with him, filled with the overwhelming
sense of a vacuum and nothingness. We had nothing to say, nothing to talk
about, nothing in common. He thought it was sort of interesting that I had
gone to college, but could not really imagine what good it was. After the
weekend, we parted ways and I have never heard from him since; it was the
death of a part of my childhood.
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Just last week, I got an email from a mutual friend in the East Coast who
told me Rand had died. He had shot himself while his wife and kids were out
two Sundays ago. It was like the ceiling had fallen down on me...Rand of all
people! He didn't leave a note, so no one knows why, but if such a King
could fall, what hope is there for us mortals? Jaunty, cocky, confident
Rand. It's unthinkable....still is. I really thought that, when this
overseas work was finished, I'd have a chance to see my old buddies again,
run some rivers, have new adventures. But Rand's death pounds home the
realization that some of the most important people might not be there when I
get back...life is marching on. His death is the death of a part of my
adulthood.
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Just yesterday, like a million times in the past three decades, my mind
wandered back to Mike and that amazing moment of friendship when he
volunteered to walk out if I was insulted by the other kids. I once
mentioned that conversation to an adult friend back when I was in my late
teens, and she stopped what she was doing, turned to look right at me, and
said "Do you have ANY idea what an incredible friend he was??" I knew. For
32 years I have remembered that moment. So filled with the sadness of Rand
dying, I thought back to my childhood friends. Kenny was lost....too far
gone in space, time and events to ever be regained. Rand is dead, leaving a
hole in the reality of his family and friends that none of us will ever be
able to fill, or understand. But what about Mike? Has his life turned out
okay? Is he still as loved as he was when we were kids? Is he happy, is he
even still alive? We had a promise to keep track of each other; does he feel
a little guilty about breaking that promise, like I do?

So I googled him. It took about an hour, but I found him. I sent him an
email yesterday, and today he replied. Life marches on.
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Happy holidays, everyone. Stay well.

--Myron