sam

Next to my laptop is a beautiful white picture frame, with intricate twirls on the edges that is reminiscent of the Victorian -era. The picture inside this frame though is what speaks to me- it's of one of my best male friends from high school. He and I had the same sarcastic sense of humor, shared a love of the late Tupac Shakur (we spent hours sifting through online articles about conspiracy theories attached to his murder), English class (he was gifted with pen and paper), as well as many other things that bonded us when we first met in 8th grade. Looking at that picture, circa 2006, taken in my kitchen, this is the friend I remember. The co-conspirator who wore Roc-A-Wear from The Burlington Coat Factory and helped me think up schemes to stay out later, go to Denny's after school dances, challenged me on different types of music, and helped me study for Mrs. Kirby's (a.k.a. "Kurb-stomps") history exams. It was taken with my sisters Polaroid camera, and on that white black spot beneath the image is half a heart and the word "friend$"- he has the other half of the heart underneath my picture with the word "best".

The person he is now is one that scares me. The past two years has been a series of huge change for him, for our friendship. He started out school at UMASS Amherst, subsequently dropped out after about a semester and a half. He met a girl who, at first, alienated me, didn't trust me- all his friends hated her. They both moved back home and began taking classes at the community college in a neighboring city. He visited me up at school a few times; I took him to a black-light kegger one night at a "fraternity" that had been shut down years ago for some, uh, illegal problems- the infamous 99 Madbury. Subsequently, the police came busting the back door, I hid in the shower with three of my girlfriends, the owners got busted, but we made it home safe, scot-free. This was the friend I knew, the partner in crime (innocent, of course).

That was a year ago. He works at a pizza shop in my town now, every day, 9-9. In the beginning of the summer, before any of my three jobs had started, I'd stop by almost every other day to chat and catch up, to just see him. About a month and a half ago my mother heard news about her estranged brother, my uncle. My uncle went crazy when I was about twelve- started telling my mother I would go to hell for reading Harry Potter, denounced Christmas and Easter because they were too commercialized, and began preaching the Bible the way he interpreted it. He banned my mother, my aunt, my grandparents, my sister, me, everyone from seeing his children and contacting his family. After not hearing about him or from him in years, my mother found out that he had taken his three children (Ezekial, Noah, and Hope) to Kodiak Island, Alaska.

This directly pertains to my friend. I saw him about four weeks ago and he informed me that he was taking religion very seriously. I asked him, "Well, what do you mean? I knew you were always pretty religious, what with going to Church every Sunday and what-not..." and he said it was different now. He doesn't listen to music. He doesn't watch T.V. He doesn't drink or smoke anymore. He doesn't hang out with friends anymore. He simply works, reads the Bible (or listens to it on book-tape), does things outside, and spends constant time with his girlfriend. This news took my breath away- doesn't listen to music? You're telling me the person I once knew who didn't go anywhere without his headphones, knew every word to Jedi Mind Tricks, traveled to Boston to meet Vinny Paz, saw Kid Cudi live and told me, "It was the best experience of my life", doesn't listen to music? The person who made me watch Team America and would spend hours laughing at The Office with me, doesn't watch television? I walked out of the pizza shop speechless, with parting words that went something like, "Well, if you ever want to take a hike sometime, let me know...I'd love to spend some time with you..." He nodded and said, "Sure thing Lyssy." I ran into his younger sister about a week ago at a graduation party. We exchanged the polite how-are-you's and talked about school, but the conversation moved to her older brother. She told me he'd gone crazy. Thinks the world was going to end in 2012 and built a bomb-shelter in their basement stocked with canned goods and flashlights and batteries. He doesn't believe in Christmas or Easter anymore. He wants to marry his girlfriend but not have children because in the Bible it says it's a sin to have bring children into a world that's ending. His sister said that she's afraid he's going to hurt her, he tells her every day that she's going to hell. I stared at her, the tears welled up in my eyes and I ran inside to the bathroom. This was my uncle, and I saw his future heading in the same delusional, hurtful, direction.

I've begun to realize how much can change in a few years. People grow up, grow apart, begin their adult lives. I always had this naive idea that my friends would always remain true to their high school personas, growing perhaps, but never changing their roots, the roots that attached themselves to me. I have to grow up as well and come to terms with the idea that he'll never be the same person again, that something inside him switched on, or off maybe. What I lost in him I hope I can gain in someone else. But I'll always keep his picture by my computer, those memories of his sixteen-year-old self shine brightly.