Once in a great while, I go searching through the internet for old friends and lovers. More often than not, the search leads nowhere; too much time and distance have covered all tracks. But a couple of days ago, just on a sudden whim, I tried one more time. And I found Pat, my best friend in high school and church, more than half a century ago. Or rather, I found his obituary.
Pat was my first love, though we were not lovers in the physical sense, I'm sad to say. It would have been a glad and joyful thing - but damnation and denial got in the way.
He died in 2020, leaving four children and eleven grandchildren. I had wondered over the years if he was still alive, where he was, and how he was doing. The last I heard of him, in the late 70s, he was working on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico - a high-paying but highly dangerous job.
The picture below, from his obituary site, was probably taken 20 or 30 years ago; he looks hearty, healthy, and prosperous there. The obit says he was much loved by his family and friends, and I suppose he had a pretty happy life. I'm very glad to know that.
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| Dapper, dashing Pat in the prime of life, long after I knew him. I've never had a picture of him until now, only memories. |
We became friends in church when I was 16 and he was 17. It so happened that we both had parents in the same distant city, so it was only logical that on school holidays and other times, we would drive up together. I had a brand-new Chevy Malibu 350 V8, cherry red with a black vinyl top. Pat had no car; didn't want the responsibility, he said. So we had many long rides together and got to know each other very well.
We were an odd couple. Pat dropped out of school to work in construction; I finished high school and started junior college. We were about the same height, six foot in boots, but Pat had a sculpted, muscular body with washboard abs and a permanent tan from working outdoors year-round. I was a bookworm. He was blond, I was brunet. He was the life of the party, I was the quiet type. But opposites attract, don't they?
Early on, he asked me, "How did you get to be so smart?" I answered, "I don't know, it just happened. How did you get to be so strong?" He replied, "I don't know, it just happened." Despite the differences, we somehow gravitated together, and enjoyed each other's company greatly. Pat was the big brother I never had: a role model, someone to be a guy with. He filled a great need.
