Love for Guns

I can’t remember exactly how it started up, but the two of us started to hang out frequently. Our adventures would usually entail making the prerequisite trip to our local Winn’s to peruse the selection of G.I. Joe’s and water guns. I think that was perhaps our common denominator: water guns. You could have all the action that Stallone, Schwarzenegger, and to a lesser extent Willis and Van Damme, made so popular. Fill ‘em up with liquid death and off you went. The best one? It was probably the cheap $1.09 red job with checked grip and extra clip for back-up. Those were some days of adventure.

Our adventures took us everywhere in the town that was Columbus. Typical small town, it had a courthouse square, three lighted intersections, and a Wal-Mart. Locals actually refer to the streets that are connected on the lighted intersections as “The Triangle”. Riding our steel pedal-driven ten-speed steeds, we would make our way from one side of town to the other, constantly evading enemy forces and purveying justice to villainy wherever it existed. To this day, I’m still amazed how far $3 would get us in those days. A hero cannot exist on superpowers alone, and Winn’s was always willing to take a grubby dollar in exchange for life-giving Gobstoppers or the ultimate buy, a genuine Slurpee. The only question? Having to decide on Coke flavor or the psychedelic mix.

Perhaps one of the smallest seemingly innocuous moments in my life that would have a most profound moment on me was when he left. It’s amazing, that as an adult, I realize that the size of my school district is quite large. Kris would move only twelve miles away, to the busy hubbub of Ellinger, epicenter capital of the state of Nowhere. It just also happened to be just across the district line; he would attend neighboring La Grange’s schools.

We were in P.E. I can still remember the stale fungus and wet concrete smell that stained your clothes. We herded ourselves to quickly change and line up. Amidst the rustling of undressing, we were still able to converse about various topics and issues, but this day was different.

“…so you’re moving?”
“Yeah. I’m already staying there. I spent the last four nights there already.”
“When’s your last day?”
“I think next week, but I’m not sure.”

I don’t remember being hurt by this departure. I don’t remember feeling any sort of despair. It was simply my friend was leaving. My “No Homework in Mrs. Steven’s Class” compatriot. I had other friends, but it wouldn’t be until I was able to actually reflect back on things that I realize how this would affect me for the years to come.

His departure wasn’t one filled with celebration and well wishes. It was without congratulatory and sincere farewells. One day, he was there (and we hung out outside of Mrs. Steven’s class without our homework) and the next he was gone.

Next time: Mean Streets of Ellinger