This is a story about one of my oldest friends. I spent a lot of time with him and his family during all of my teen years over a seven-year period. Through most of them we were constant companions. We were once the best of friends. No matter what, when I hear the words “childhood friend”, I think first of Marcus and all those crazy days we spent together. (Marcus is not my friend’s name. I’m using it to protect his and his family’s identity.)
Marcus and I shared a lot of adventures amidst our active lives. They included attending the same classes in school, working at many jobs side-by-side, the V.W. then the G.T.O, our travels around the beltway of D.C., and the many people, especially the girls we came to know.
All day on Sundays and at least one night during the week we attended church together. Marcus and I were a couple of cut-ups, always laughing and the biggest fans of one another’s comedic skills. I still use lines today that Marcus and I coined all those years before.
For every memorable event we shared together there are probably at least a dozen I’ve long forgotten about. But I do remember when in about 8th grade he was in the hospital. It was bittersweet to get him laughing so hard on the one hand, but then on the other he had the nurse throw me out of his room. Apparently the pain I was inflicting, by getting him to laugh uncontrollably, was just too much to bear as he recovered from having his spleen removed a couple of days before. Go figure!
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Stories I Share With Friends 