I asked my friend to supply me with a writing prompt, and while mulling over what he sent me, it struck me. Duh, write about him. We are both 38 years old (although on multiple occasions, I have forgotten and had to ask how old we were), and we met when we were 11. That's 27 years. Let that sink in for a minute. Most marriages don't last that long anymore. Like some of you who are in long-term, committed relationships, I even remember the first time we met. I was cleaning out my mom's station wagon in the driveway on a summer day, and my friend from the next street over came by with Chris in tow. With his jean shorts and "rat-tail," he didn't make much of a first impression, as I'm sure I didn't with him. He was just a friend-of-a-friend who I figured I'd never see again (I went to Catholic school, while my neighbor and Chris attended public school). But low and behold, at the start of 6th grade, the following year, I found myself attending the same public school (PRAISE JESUS! God, I hated Catholic school). So, as one of two people I knew in the whole school, our friendship started out of necessity on my part.
Next comes the only sketchy part of our long friendship. We became closer friends because of our mutual dislike of the guy who introduced us, and his whole family. They were originally from Arkansas, every sentence as if it were a question, had a pen with 5 or 6 cocker spaniels by there house that was always filthy, a shady step-dad named Dale, and rounded everything out with a toddler who seemed to only wear a diaper, Kool-Aid mustache, and always just looked sticky. But I digress, it wasn't long before we cut out the middle-man, and just became best friends ourselves. I think it was around the time in 6th grade when, despite having a very German last name, and his mother having a very French maiden name, Chris declared he was Italian. When asked why he thought he was Italian, given his parents' last names, he said, and I quote, "Because I eat a lot of pasta." How do you not want to hang out with a guy like that?
As we progressed into high school, our "outsider-ness," solidified our bond. We both love heavy metal, but have never been the head-banging/moshing types, we didn't fit with the "farm kids," who were way into Country music and their trucks, we like at least some punk, but have never been the studded leather jacket/dyed mohawk types, and while we both like Tool a lot, like most of our very small friend-group, we don't worship Maynard (don't get me started on those fuckin' weirdos). I like to think we were true non-conformists, not molding ourselves into any one thing, just to fit in. Now that may be delusional, wishful thinking, from a loser with no friends, but fuck you, this is my blog. Instead, we formed our own clique. A clique of two. Now, fortunately or unfortunately, that clique led us straight to the U.S. Army. We may have been the easiest recruits the U.S. military ever signed up. We approached the recruiter our junior year, and with our parents' permission, were both committed to 4 years in the Active Duty Army Infantry, by the time we were 17.
You see, we're both "true believers" in American ideals. Not the kind you see nowadays, that spout conspiracy theories, or the "love it or leave it" mentality. No, we believe in the purest form of those ideals, that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is guaranteed to all, no matter their race, creed, gender, sexual orientation, or what-have-you. And we both signed physical contracts saying we would give our lives to defend those ideals. That, for sure, is the kind of guy you want to hitch your wagon to. Chris left for basic training a week after our graduation in 2001, and I followed him a week later. We started basic at different times, but through some clever maneuvering on Chris's part, we found ourselves in the same training company. We graduated basic together, and moved right into AIT (Advanced Individual Training) for the Infantry. We were in MOUT Training (Military Operations in Urban Terrain) on the morning of September 11, 2001. That was the day we knew we would eventually put our training to use, and see combat (here's some "Mike Trivia": I didn't see footage of the event that would send me to war, until almost 2 1/2 years later, after I had served a combat tour in Iraq).
After AIT, we moved on to Airborne School. "Jump School," is where we parted ways for a while. I finished, he didn't, I won't get into it, but rest assured he still gets teased for it. We hung out for a few days around Christmas, 2001, he was on his way to Fort Drum in New York, and I was on my way to Ranger Battalion (I didn't make the cut, but I have another blog about an embarrassing moment that happened there: https://www.suicidegirls.com/members/imnotferris/blog/3339370/my-most-embarrassing-moment/). From NY, he was deployed to Qatar for Operation Enduring Freedom, and I went on to my first duty station in Korea (haha, "duty"... I'm a lil' drunk). Because of overlapping overseas assignments, we didn't see each other again for around 18 months (give or take). Our reunion was straight out of a Lifetime Movie. It was during an annual festival our small town holds, and we literally ran into each other's arms across the midway, in front of approximately 80% of our graduating class. Easily one of the most heart-warming and embarrassing moments of my life.
Shortly thereafter, there was another long period where we didn't see each other. Chris was medically discharged because of the carelessness of some fuckhole, and I was sent to Iraq, to ensure low gas prices, and the legacy of a dim-witted family that shares a name with pubic hair. So 9 months to a year passed (a little more, maybe?). I have to tell you, we never wrote to each other, and rarely called, butt every time we saw each other, we picked up as if we had hung out the day before. That's not necessarily uncommon among close friends, but when you factor in the fact that he helped me through some real problems I had after returning from Iraq, just by being there, it's a very uncommon friendship. Whether it was being a shoulder to literally cry on when drunk and rambling, or laughing his ass off when I freaked the fuck out when a car backfired, he was there. He basically lived on my couch for a few months when I got out of the Army. Not many friends will do that.
Years later, old wounds (mostly mental) have mostly scarred over, and we've settled into a more normal friendship. He's got a couple kids that I assume I would be the Godfather of (at least one), if he weren't a Godless heathen. And the same could be said of him, if I didn't instinctively repel women 🤣🤣🤣...😳...😂😂. The long-and-short of it is this: I believe he would do just about anything for me, and I hope he knows I would do the same for him, and by extension, his kids.
I know what some of you are probably thinking, "Just fuck and get it over with, jeez." I have 2 things to say to this: 1- Grow up, it's 2022, and 2- If you don't have the type of best friend that makes people (friends, family, and strangers alike) question your sexuality from time-to-time, do you really have a best friend?
By the way, what he suggested I write about was the recent discovery of a possible mermaid skeleton. What a turd.
