Back in the Day

We used to play. We would play music - listening and creating it was a strong pastime. We would play baseball, basketball, football, 'Butts Up', you name it - we used to play it.

We used to be carefree. We would fantasize, we would gossip, we would eat to our stomach's content and we would sleep to our body's desire.

We used to cheat. We would lie, we would smoke, we would drink, we would steal, and we would defy parental will.

Ben and I used to be best friends, back in the earlier stages of high school. Before he met Rebecca and I met Emma, before he established himself with those shady kids and I found intelligent, sober friends, we would do whatever it took to have fun with other guys in our crew - our mutual friends with whom we shared some traits and hobbies in common. We did things that weren't so legal and that weren't so moral, and we did them behind the watch of our parents. We did them because we could, and nothing really mattered. We were still kids, with no responsibility and no purpose.

It was on the fine, warm afternoon of Thursday, June 14^th, 2007 that Ben and I decided to do what we had always done best - to fool around and make the best of our insignificant lives by having fun. We spent the day with our crew: David, Tony, Cody, and Kevin behind the back fence to the storage unit at my former middle school tagging the wall, demolishing articles of garbage with the soles of our sneakers, and smoking cigarettes we found in ashbins or on the street before going back to playing basketball on the old paved courts and pretending we were innocent 15 year-old boys. Hours we spent on the court, fouling, cursing, and cheating each other... but it was all in good fun.

We parted ways and Ben and I were by ourselves and decided to go back to my house for a relaxing evening. The sun was setting and our energy had faded. On our way home from the four-block walk, the air still humid from the hot day, was when the real trouble started - in my own goddamn neighborhood.

On that last day of the first week of summer, Ben and I strolled down Lexington Street towards my place at the corner of Arch sharing prospective plans for our birthdays - mine on July 31^st and his exactly one month afterwards. As we passed Daniel's house on Birch, Ben explained that his mother was going to let him get a tattoo for his 16^th birthday and that he planned to ink a large-sized logo of The Black Dahlia Murder, a band that I had showed him just a couple weeks back, on his forearm. My rebuttal of how stupid and regrettable that would be was interrupted by a yellow Volvo station wagon filled with older-looking Latin-American kids bumping noisy rap cruising past us and coming to an abrupt halt just 30 or so feet ahead. A large Mexican guy with RWC and 650 tattoos on his left and right upper arms, respectively, exited the passenger side front seat and approached us, loudly and rudely demanding,

"Three dalla's for gas! I need three dalla's for gas!
I know you got some cash on ya' homie... Lemme get three dalla's for gas!"

We stopped walking where he intercepted us on the sidewalk just past Daniel's place, his relatives close by and other neighbors out in front of their homes around the area. With my free hand (the occupied hand held a 12 ounce can of Pepsi), I emptied the pockets of my blue Adidas basketball shorts, revealing my LG cell phone, while Ben showed an empty wallet to the seemingly 20 or 21 year-old thug, his short black hair slicked back and a thin moustache on his mean, hideous facial facade. He stood a fair three or four inches taller than me, built.

"Sorry man, we don't ha---", I began to say.

"Ey lemme use that phone!", he cut in.

"Why?"

"I'm 'onna call my brotha' to come pick us up... we're outta town right now."

"Nah I'm not going to let you use my phone", I retorted. I guess coming to Redwood City with RWC and 650 tattoos means you're out of town.

"Fine", I said, just to shut him up so hopefully he would have his way so we could be on ours.
"Use it right here", I pointed to the ground between us.

"A'ight", he captured the phone out of my hand and immediately turned away, dialing a ridiculous number with more than 7 digits and strolling slowly back towards the car. I walked very closely behind him until he returned to the front, passenger side seat. At that point, I panicked and said, "Hey! Give me my phone back!". Ben observed from the sidewalk, a frightened look on his ugly face. The guy quickly turned around and hit my cheek with an open fist, yelling, "Get outta here, bitch!"

"What the fuck is your problem?! Gimme my phone!", I responded, in shock from the fast strike, while splashing Pepsi on him attempting to hit him back. I reached for the phone as the shameless, filthy thief dove into the open back seat onto some girls that looked disturbed by what was going on and they sped away.

In the moment, I would not see what this traumatic event did to benefit my life. It was horrific, but it showed me that Ben wasn't a good friend, nor was he leading a desirable life. The police would arrive, Daniel would come out to the street and show me sympathy and resent for what happened to me, my parents, friends, and girlfriend would be comforting, and I would, in a matter of months, move on from being bitter about the situation. I would not, however, forgive Ben for his absence of commiseration. I realized that he was a scared, selfish bastard and that he did not 'have my back', so to speak - I couldn't expect that of him. Our friendship has slowly died since this time. He continued his ways and failed to graduate high school after the 3.5 GPA we shared in 9^th grade. I have not spoken to him in months.

Over time, however, I came to realize the importance of friends. On that day, one of my best friends would poorly prove me his definition of loyalty and I would discover true meaning and depth in my newborn romance. Good friends aren't the kids that stand on the sidelines and fail to take action in your time of need. What if Marco Chavez-Aboytes (as I would find out my assailant is named when I succeeded in pressing charges months later) had been armed? If he had whipped out a pistol at pointed it at my face, would Ben have cowered in fear on the sidewalk or would he have at least attempted to help me? Good friends are dependable and they'll show you how much they care when the time comes. They're either there for you or they aren't, and that makes all the difference.