It hurt, “hands-around-my-throat, can’t-breathe” hurt
I was laughing so hard. Finally I managed to get enough
air to gasp pleadingly for him to stop—and that is when he
flicked his box of popcorn in my face. If it had been funny
before, it was hilarious then and I remember ending up on
the dirty, ticky-tacky floor of the theater, thinking:
this is it/i’m going to die/it was fun while it lasted.
And as God is my witness, that only made it funnier.
It turns out that at that point he had already lived over
half of his life, while I only a third (thus far) of mine.
I ask you: what fairness is there in that?
But perhaps that is the point, my point, or his point to me,
because it has to be someone’s point. (I can hear him
laughing as I write this—my little buddy, still laughing.)
And as God is my witness, I would love to know
what it is that he is laughing about right now.
Tony told me on our first meeting (we were in university together, taking our engineering degrees) that ‘Spaz’ was his nickname. I could go on and on about him, but the simple truth is that he was a wonderful person and I loved him very, very much. He was a good and dear friend and I cherish all those years we were together.
The tragedy is that we had not spoken since shortly after we graduated; my moving to Africa did that to many relationships. And yet, when I recently heard from a fellow classmate that he had died at the very young age of 40, still, I was very saddened by it. As my mother often said, “Only the good die young.” That’s not true, of course, but what is true is that we get to regret their passing for far longer than if they had not.
And that story about us going to a movie and me feeling I was going to die from laughing? Absolutely true. That was Spaz.
Thank you for reading That day Spaz tried to kill me. I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain, and as always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph was taken at Wolf Den state park in Connecticut. To see my photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh blog.
Photograph, notes and poem © John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use in any way without the expressed consent of its copyright owner.