Where we are now

Written to an absent friend and the ones he left behind:

            It's 2003, around Christmastime, and I have just moved away from family, home and friends toward the promise of a job two states away.  I'm visiting the home of the only friend I have in these parts and listening to her husband tell a story about when he was a kid.  Because if there's one thing he can do, it's tell stories. 

            "So, it's the middle of the night and I'm yelling 'Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, DAD!' and he comes running in like I'm dying or something and says 'what is it?'  So, totally calm-like, I say 'buy me a basketball'."

            Marty rarely made sense to me.  He had his own way of doing things, had been many places, seen many things, and was really good at two things: lying about how spicy the food really was ('oh, that's not the hot kind, don't worry') and telling stories.  He'd been on the road with bands, and was now working as a stagehand, and as I began to work as a security guard in the same venue, I found out that everyone knew him, or at least knew of him.  Why they knew him was another story entirely, but there it was. 

            Life deals us all harsh blows, and Marty wasn't always someone I could call a friend, but I always cared about his kids like they were family, and I was always on the fringes of his life somewhere from the day I moved to this state on out.  Things happened both to me and to him, but much worse things to him.  In the end, he'd suffered much pain, but his kids were each in a pretty good place, and things were looking up for him, as much as they could be at the time. 

            And again, two things are certain:

            Marty died as he lived, near friends, and given how his life was going at the time, I am grateful for this.  No matter what happened, I can say that he never intentionally inflicted any suffering upon my life, and I am glad he did not die alone, though he was in my opinion much too young to leave this world. 

            And two?  I'm pretty sure that where he is now, his dad finally got to give him a basketball.  May you finally find peace, Marty, and we will tell your stories wherever we happen to be.