Regina Bound And Home

 I did a Regina Road-trip yesterday, an old friend, his overgrown drooling dog, and me-slightly overgrown and drooling controlled. (Most of the time.)

We were on a quest to visit another old friend who is going through a divorce, a forced home sale, and life's accumulated shit all crashing at once.

I hadn't seen my friend from "the city of fun" since his uncles funeral at least fifteen years ago. He was a 'summer friend" in our village. One who spent most of his summer vacation at his grandparents house, next door to my other friend who was now driving the truck, and down to street from me. The proximity to a buddy next door meant that I was always a secondary friend, but one who, especially after we slid into our teens, became important to him. If you think back to your childhood you will remember that eventually too much exposure, to a person, a game, or Gilligan's Island, became boring and sometimes grating. When that happened between the two top buddies I was around to pick up the slack. The rebound.

We always managed to find some way to mess around. Booze, girls, old wrecks of cars. It was with my part time friend that I last smoked weed, at the stag of friend number 1. (I never did well on pot, my lungs couldn't take the smoke and my brain couldn't take the paranoia, so I decided at this event that alcohol, the vice and destruction of all of the men in my family, would become my wife, my vice and my life, at least until I was getting laid on a more regular basis.)

The drive was good, despite crappy coffee and stomach churning road food. We talked about years past, two older men reminiscing.  He updated me on the health problems of school mates, which was sobering.

"Remember her?

"Kinda."

"She has been in a wheelchair. Cindy texted Colleen who texted me to say that she had a heart attack. The brain scans say no activity."

"Oh...Bummer.  We complain but things could sure be worse."

"I saw Jay yesterday. M.S. He's in a wheelchair as well, pretty much immobilized."

"Jeezus. He has such a sharp mind. To be in that state must be devastating."

"Yup. I guess, like you said, things could always be worse."

What else can I say?  Our friend was stepping out of his truck, with a bag of groceries, when we arrived, Still 5 foot not so much, but the hair that was pulled behind his hat in a pony tail, the hair that used to be jet black, was now snow white. Add a beard of the same shade and my first and still lasting impression of him is as one of Santa's elves-which I, of course, told him right away.

"Fuck you.

Things change, but the important things stay the same.

He explained how he quit drinking 24 years ago, but he wasn't smart enough to quit smoking and now the emphysema has robbed him of 70 percent of his lung capacity. It was difficult watching him carry his bag, but he wouldn't accept help. Proud? Probably stubborn. Men of our generation were taught to be a pain in the ass.

The rest of the afternoon was spent with old man talk. Talk about cars and girls that we lusted after, some that we had, those that got away. (I'm talking cars. The girl talk was probably 10% truth and 90% bullshit, but it was still entertaining.) The dogs played in the huge back yard. The men actually peed in the bushes, like we used to.

"Remember when you could piss in eight seconds flat, zipper down to zipper up?"

"Yup! That damn swollen prostate."  (Don't be disgusted. You all will talk about your changes someday.)

 

We parted around 7:00, knowing we could talk all night but a three hour drive home was trying, hard on that prostate, and also the back, bones and brain.

I mentioned to our Regina friend, "the last time I saw you was at Cliff's....."

"That's our life these days. We only see each other at funerals."

"We need to change that."

"Yup."

 

Driving away I was asked "what do you think?"

I was overwhelmed by happiness, by sadness, by the shocking awareness of passing years of change. But my answer was short and two the point.

"It could always be worse. Not just for him, but for all of us."