The Good and Bad Times

I made some new friends a few years ago. These were people I never imagine myself hanging out and becoming friends with. I used to see them around and always heard things about them. So I was a little bit uncomfortable when I first met them. There was this guy who had to be the coolest person I ever met. Everyone hung out at his place. So when one of my girls started dating him, my friends and I found ourselves hanging out there a lot too. We either skipped school and would go there or wait until after school to go kick it. No matter what, we were there like everyday. We had no life! LOL Even though that’s all we did, we had fun. It was something new, something different.
I can still remember the parties, the barbeques on the weekends, cases of beer and bottles of liquor we go through, and the non-ending supply of bud. I remember the first time getting high. I was tripping hard. But it was all good. I became close to a few of them and even though we’ve only known each other not long, it felt like a lifetime. We continue to party like we did everyday. At the same time things at home just got to rough and my parents was always on my case. So they kick me out one day. It was no biggie, I wasn’t an angel. My parents and I just needed to cool off for a while. I went to go stay at the house we hung out at. I got better acquainted with the guy and even started to care for him as a friend. He never made anyone feel left out and always had everyone’s back. That’s probably what made him one of a kind.
A couple months passed, and I was really starting to miss my own bed. Not that I didn’t appreciate what everyone did for me. I can’t ever forget. But one night of drinking and thinking, I decided to go back home. I knew I had to chill down and not go out so much after I came back. So I just hung out every other weekend. By time I knew it, it was summer. I got back into playing volleyball and that’s all I wanted to do. Was just to play ball everyday. I saw and talk to my friends less and less. One night when I was just about to slip into bed, I heard a knock at the door. My other friend had seen something on the news. She rushed over to see if it was true. I had no idea what was happening. I couldn’t believe it when she told me. The guy who had been there for everyone, the guy that my best friend loved, the guy who graciously offered his house when I needed a place to stay, was shot and died on his way to the hospital. It still didn’t sink into my head that it was true. It couldn’t be. Had to be some kind of mistake. I pick up the phone and call my girl, who was dating him, to see if it was true. When she came on the phone, all I heard was sobs and then I knew it. He was gone. We spent the night in disbelieve.
The next morning we all went over to the house. I remember that day clearly. It was fogging and quiet. Not like before, his house used to be the loudest on the block. But there it was, like a black cloud circled over it. The next few days were horrible. My heart was aching and tears were just coming down during the funeral. I’d never knew anyone close to me before that I had to say goodbye to. Now that I think about it I’d tried my very best to visit him the week before his death. It was like I had to see him. That was very strange. Was someone trying to tell me something?


by Anonymous