I Remember. . . . .
I remember the kid next door with whom I grew up, a short andstocky lad named Donald Meaux. Did I say stocky? A modern day Pillsbury DoughBoy with high top sneakers and knee high-socks is a more accurate description. He has been my next door neighbor for more than eighteen years. We met as mostchildren do through the friendship of our parents. Our fathers shared cold beersin the evening, while our mothers gossiped in the kitchen over tea.
Their twodiapered infants played in the playpen together day in and day out. In thisfriendship, which was similar to that of a married couple, Donald and I had ourups and our downs; yet for ten years, we spent day after day together. We oftenfought, and then we made up once the ice cream man came around the corner in hismagical truck. But, like most good things, the friendship wore away with time. Iremember Donald as a spoiled, aggravating four year old. Neither of these arecharacteristics that anyone looks for in a lifelong friendship.
Yet,characteristics like these are not very important to a child of four. At fouryears old, people hardly ever make logical decisions. After all, Donald and Idid share a bowl of dog food for dessert every now and then. For the first fewyears, our friendship was flawless. We spent day after day together. On theweekends, we took turns sleeping at each other’s houses.
I used to lovesleeping at Don’s house, because we were allowed to stay up later there thanat my house. Another thing I loved about their house was the coveted “midnightsnack,” which consisted of either chocolate milk or Fruity Pebbles. We keptourselves awake until midnight, ate our snack, and then went to sleep. Weremained good, close friends for years.
As time went on, Don and I startedhaving problems as friends, which was quite understandable since we spent everyday together. Needless to say, we got on each other’s nerves. He was obnoxiousand aggravating. I was ornery and a momma’s boy.
I remember how he lovedNintendo. He used to play for hours on end, and he was good. One day he wasplaying Super Mario 3, and he was about to defeat the game. Just as he waswinning, I turned off the television and blinded his view. When Don turned thetelevision back on, it was too late; he had lost.
He was furious with me andliterally attacked me like a wild predator. He scratched, clawed, and bit me,while I punched and kicked him for at least thirty seconds. Then we got tiredand fell down. After that, we just started laughing and that was it. The fightwas over. This kind of friendship is one that people do not expect to end.
Asanyone can guess, time took its toll on our friendship. The friendshipdeteriorated during our first year in high school. There was not anythingcomplicated about it; it just happened. He kept his old friends, and I made newones. I played sports and he did not . I went out on the weekends and he stayedhome.
As the years passed, we found ourselves even farther apart. We even foundourselves avoiding each other at school to bypass an awkward situation, and Istopped going over to his house after school. We lived less than fifty yardsaway, but for years it felt as though it were miles. Over the eighteen yearsthat I have known Donald, I have learned a lot.
I have learned that people canand will change. I have also learned that bad things get worse if you let themlinger, like old meat left out on the counter to spoil. Finally, I have learnedthat there is a bright side to everything, even this. About two weeks ago,Donald came home from Baton Rouge and stopped by my house. We ended up talkingfor hours about old times and school.
We spoke for the first time in over threeyears and had what was probably the most interesting conversation the two of ushave ever had. Is this not ironic? For years we lived so close physically, yetso far apart socially. We lived next door to each other, but could not stop byeach other’s house just to talk. Only when one of us moved far away to collegedid we find it in ourselves to once again visit with each other.
