We were laughing uncontrollably at nothing and I said something about how slowly the car was moving. #64 reminded me we were in the backseat of his father's parked car.
He shouldn't have been dabbling in those things we did. It just didn't suit him well.
#64's mom was resting on the mantle above his seldom used fireplace in an urn. He rarely gave her eye contact because he was ashamed of whom he had become. Funny thing about that fat, lost and broken kid... he's one of the best people I've ever known.
The first week of high school our freshman year, this 15 year old, 300 pound kid was riding his bike; holding a box of donuts in his hand. In fact, he was holding that box of donuts with both hands because they were that important to him. Funny thing about being 300 pounds on a tiny bike while riding without your hands on the handlebars because you are afraid you might drop your donuts... you'll crash. And crash he did; right into a pile of rocks. Bloodied and bruised, he emerged from the giant rock pile with his bike bent and twisted as if he had a head on collision with a semi truck, #64 screamed, "MY DONUTS".
That was the funniest moment of my high school years. #64 whom later became one of my best friends didn't care he wrecked his bike or that he was bleeding from face to knees. He only cared that his $5 box of donuts were ruined.
And that's how I met #64.
We were camping in the middle of the desert; smoking pot. I don't think I've ever laughed harder than I did that night. #20 was THAT guy; the guy boys envy and girls want. He liked to drive shirtless and speak in one or two word sentences. He was an enigma to those who didn't know him.
Rumors swirled, he was fucking our english teacher, taking drugs, an alcoholic... a bad boy. #20 was a victim of his good genes, quiet demeanor and upper middle class upbringing. Funny thing about #20, he was exactly the opposite of my preconceived notions... he was one of the best people I've ever known.
Junior year, I was a little out of place. I took pride in my independence and unwillingness to be part of a clique. It's pretty lonely when you don't completely belong in one specific circle of friends, I learned.
#20 befriended me. He would say "hi" every single day as we crossed paths in between classes. Mind you, he was a senior and I really was the black sheep of this relatively affluent private school. Or so I believed.
One Friday, he invited me over after school to party with him and his friends. And I did. And that Friday night continued for the next decade. He became my brother and one of the best friends I ever had.
And that's how I met #20.
I never played football in high school. I think I attended one game after graduation and that was to show off my awkward ear ring in my left ear so all those kids would know how rebellious I had become. Funny thing about how we view ourselves in a specific moment is that years later, we will realize how ridiculous we were.
I never saw #64 or #20 play football. I only knew the legend of their talents. But funny thing is I remember their football jersey numbers. I remember those friends. In fact, the rare times I ever play the lottery or Keno in Vegas, those are the first numbers I choose.
Man, thank God for friends. Even ones who exit our lives unexpectedly or depart this life tragically. Thank God that we have this crazy ability to remember things; even trivial things like the number on a back of a football jersey.
#64 and #20 are more than numbers to me, I would be remiss to not mention that. Both of them changed my life for the better and continue to do so today despite the fact, they are no longer around me... as one is living the dream his mother hoped for before she became a fixture on the mantle above their rarely used fireplace and the other is probably looking down at me finally at peace with himself.
I've got so many stories I will never get to share with her and I am sure she's got plenty more than me. She would have loved #64 and #20 just like I do.
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