Below The Fold

Brandon’s getting married.

He was the first friend I made in the neighborhood my parents moved to in my youth. When they pulled me out of a failing private school and plugged me into public, Mrs. Smith pointed at Brandon and told me to sit next to him. He lived a few blocks away and had a beagle named Lizzie.

We walked to school every day, got into fights (I always won), got chased by bullies, fought back at the bullies, caught crawdads and tried to sell them and committed the occasional small act of juvenile vandalism. Once, we spent a day telling joggers to boycott the new condos that were being built in the field across the canal from my parents’ house. Another day we spent wandering around the man-made creek in an office park near his house, watching water spiders skitter across the moats.

He lost his virginity in the backseat of my station wagon. He taught me how to drive a stick. My high school sweetheart cheated on me with another friend once at his house. I learned that hot tubs and bourbon are a poor mix there, too.

His dad was a traveling salesman of some sort for a while. He’d always bring Brandon back some fantastic gift, like a set of Samurai swords or nunchucks. Brandon had the best toys, and his room was half the basement of their house, completely finished. His dad used to tell us stories about the hash bars in Amsterdam. He’s sick now, and Brandon says he’s on the way out. His mom’s sick too. I had a crush on her when I was 11.

Brandon and I went to elementary school, middle school, high school and then we both went to UNC together. We used to drive back and forth from Greeley every weekend. He had a turbo Audi, and we’d fly to Denver. Once, we made the trip in 23 minutes. I’d put my seat back and open the sun roof and watch the stars pass overhead while he blared the soundtrack from The Last Mohican.

After the first semester, I bailed. I hated it there. Brandon found a home. He still lives there, a decade later. He’s marrying a girl from Georgia I haven’t met. They’re trying to accelerate the process so his folks can see them get married.

We drifted apart after I left Greeley. Different directions. The last time I saw him was at my wedding. He’s a good egg. He came up and visited me in Vail during my winter of discontent.

I’m happy for him.