🚀 go-pugleaf

Did you ever know somebody who just rubbed you the wrong way?  Maybe
not; maybe you're one of those people who can tolerate anybody, but
not me.  I can't exactly put my finger on why some people seem to
bring out the worst in me.  All I know is, every once in a while, I
meet somebody who just grates on my nerves.  Most of the time, it is
easy enough to avoid these ball-busters, but when I was about 11 years
old, I knew one such person that I could not avoid, because he was my
best friend.

His name was Ken, and he came from a broken home.  From what I could
tell, his mother was having emotional troubles, and declined to take
custody of him when her marriage to Ken's father fell apart.  He lived
with his father and brother, and his stepmother and her three kids in
a small, perpetually dirty house in the rural Utah town where I spent
10 years of my childhood.  He never seemed to be getting along with
any of his family (I used to think it was because they were all
rotten, just like he said), and so he spent a lot of time at my house.
It was obvious that he really liked my mom, possibly because she was
the only adult he knew who didn't try to act like a youth counsellor.
Or maybe she was just a convenient mother figure for him.  Whatever
the reason was, I didn't care.  She was my mom, not his.

All though junior high school we were inseparable, despite a few
fistfights.  Neither of us ever got hurt during these fights, but he
won them all, by any objective assessment.  Once, he sat on my chest
until I agreed that he was right, and I was wrong.  By the time he had
wrestled me down, I had forgotten what the argument was about.  As far
as I knew, it was just another stupid fistfight, but Ken had some
point to make, and he wasn't going to get up until I acknowledged it.
Tiring of his tearful, incoherent babbling, I finally relented without
knowing what I was agreeing to.  I was puzzled about that for a while.

We saw each other less frequently during the summer between 9th and
10th grades.  Ken had a job, and I had football practice.  Besides, he
didn't really fit in well with my other (popular) friends.  That fall,
he won a coveted role in our drama club's one-act play.  I received a
lesser role, and in the regional competitions, I won Best Supporting
Actor.  Ken was named Best Actor.  A few months later, I decided to
skip the tryouts for "The Fantasticks."

That same year, the girl that Ken had been chasing made an overt play
for me.  I barely knew her, and I wasn't really interested, but I
don't think it made much difference.  Ken started to act strangely (a
feat for Ken, I thought), and sometimes seemed convinced that someone
was out to get him, undoubtedly as a consequence of his relationship
with the girl.  I listened to his stories, but did not voice my
disbelief.

One day, Ken told me that his family was moving to Wyoming.  He didn't
want to leave, but his protests were being ignored.  His only chance
of staying, and finishing high school with the rest of us, lay with
me.  Would I ask my parents if he could he stay with my family?  Of
course I'd ask.  Later, when I told my mom of Ken's predicament, she
thought for a while without saying anything.  Then she said "Do you
want Ken staying with us?"  I was surprised by the question, and
perhaps even more so by my answer.  I looked down at the floor,
shaking my head no.

The night Ken came to say goodbye, I had been out partying with some
other friends.  It was late, I was slightly drunk, and probably stoned
as well; in short, I was not in the mood for a long, emotional
farewell, despite the fact that Ken clearly was.  I told him "good
luck" (was that a rotten thing to say?), shook his hand, and he left.
We exchanged a few letters, and then stopped.

--
jonathan byrd
jon@apollo.med.utah.edu