October 16, 2007
A trip to remember
Originally published October 15, 2003
You know what happens when you grow old? You start to remember good times you had with people who are dead now. I have pictures of my friend, Steve, all over my house. Prostate cancer killed him and we once laughed about all the crap we went through together. We laughed right up until Steve died.
I saw my friend destroyed by a wasting disease while I walked away from the same thing with a few months in diapers, 18 months of impotence, then a bionic dick implant. I am alive and Steve is dead. That just ain't fair. I miss Steve.
We once climbed all the way to the top of Hangover Mountain, right after Steve fell in love with Cindy. I wanted to puke on the rocks when he started telling me how much he loved that woman. Bejus! She was such a goddess! He was going to marry her. I told him "FOR GODSAKES DON'T DO IT!!"
Aw, crap. I was best man at his wedding. I still have the pocketwatch he gave me that day, and I keep it wound right here on the computer desk. I appreciate that watch.
I've learned one thing about friendships. I don't care how tight you think you are with someone, pussy is more powerful than you are. Accept that fact, because you'll never change it.
I guess I always wanted to be a little boy and camp out with my friends forever. I wanted to drink wine from that goat-skin bag that Steve always carried in his pack and I wanted to hand him an occasional cigarette, even though he didn't smoke unless he was drinking wine from a goat-skin bag. Those were good days.
I'm too old and stiff to climb that mountain anymore. But I know that I left some damn fine memories up there.
All content © Rob Smith