Promises Broken, Chapter 2
I am both blessed and cursed with a core group of friends that have been with me since (at the latest) junior high. It is a blessing in that we have had many years to build our relationships and ease into having each other into our lives and a curse due to, amongst other things, the familiarity-breeds-contempt factor. Not to get this all off on the wrong foot here as my friends are just that, my friends, but occasionally when you’ve been around the same group of people for years and years on end you begin to wonder how much of your continued association is due to comfort and proximity rather then a genuine desire to spend time with each other. This isn’t a frequent sensation, but it’s there none the less.
A particular event from the 8th grade to this day personifies the dynamics and personalities in the group. It was the day before our junior high graduation ceremony and to celebrate we had all arranged to get together at Brian’s house. It was a school night; Yes, Junior High Graduation was just as lame as it sounds. It took place 2 weeks before the end of the school year and only served to make the grade 8 students unbearably restless for the end of the year, an error in forethought that had persisted for some time at my school. At some point you would think that one of the teachers might wise up to the fact, although memories of hidden hip flasks and secret smoke breaks lead me to believe that perhaps our teachers were as restless as we were at the time. There was a silent pact of sorts, large sections of the final periods of the day being filled with conversation or reading or any activity where we didn’t have to learn and the teacher didn’t have to teach, an arrangement that worked out well for all involved parties. In any case, at the end of the school day my clique formed briefly to run over the basic plan before regrouping later that evening.
Brian and I met in the 4th grade, I the new kid and he the outgoing joker willing to take a new charge under his wing. This was the last of my father’s semi-annual transplantations of our family across the country although I had no way of knowing that, so at first my acceptance of his kindness was more of an automated response. If you want to befriend me, that’s great. It’s not like I’m going to be around for long, right? With his infectious energy however, I soon found myself emerging from my shell and discovering a brave new world of chaos and confusion. Brian it turned out, moved around more then I did, albeit only around the city, a result of his divorced parents and their various questionable lifestyles. His father was what the generous would describe as “a character”, the kind that seemed to be attached to every sitcom family: The crazy neighbor who was always involved in some zany get rich quick scheme or blowing up something with power tools. His fascination with “beating” the casinos also put his finances in constant trouble, and as a result his lodgings were less then stable, in a constant state of feast or famine.
A particular event from the 8th grade to this day personifies the dynamics and personalities in the group. It was the day before our junior high graduation ceremony and to celebrate we had all arranged to get together at Brian’s house. It was a school night; Yes, Junior High Graduation was just as lame as it sounds. It took place 2 weeks before the end of the school year and only served to make the grade 8 students unbearably restless for the end of the year, an error in forethought that had persisted for some time at my school. At some point you would think that one of the teachers might wise up to the fact, although memories of hidden hip flasks and secret smoke breaks lead me to believe that perhaps our teachers were as restless as we were at the time. There was a silent pact of sorts, large sections of the final periods of the day being filled with conversation or reading or any activity where we didn’t have to learn and the teacher didn’t have to teach, an arrangement that worked out well for all involved parties. In any case, at the end of the school day my clique formed briefly to run over the basic plan before regrouping later that evening.
Brian and I met in the 4th grade, I the new kid and he the outgoing joker willing to take a new charge under his wing. This was the last of my father’s semi-annual transplantations of our family across the country although I had no way of knowing that, so at first my acceptance of his kindness was more of an automated response. If you want to befriend me, that’s great. It’s not like I’m going to be around for long, right? With his infectious energy however, I soon found myself emerging from my shell and discovering a brave new world of chaos and confusion. Brian it turned out, moved around more then I did, albeit only around the city, a result of his divorced parents and their various questionable lifestyles. His father was what the generous would describe as “a character”, the kind that seemed to be attached to every sitcom family: The crazy neighbor who was always involved in some zany get rich quick scheme or blowing up something with power tools. His fascination with “beating” the casinos also put his finances in constant trouble, and as a result his lodgings were less then stable, in a constant state of feast or famine.
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