Because I got high

I can't remember what time of year it was. I do know that it wasn't cold, and the evening wasn't hot, so that could mean anything between November and March in the deep south.

What I do remember is picking up my best friend from Fort Stewart. He'd just finished his tour in Bosnia, where he had a number of misadventures he wouldn't tell me about until years later. Even then, he discussed the things that happened exactly once. Since that discussion, he's brought up aspects of the conversation here and there. I know he still carries guilt about the men who died at the other end of his sight picture, but he loses less sleep over it as time goes on.

We rolled up to the parade field where they were holding the soldiers in formation. All at once, they were dismissed, and he came running towards us to get in the car. It was backslaps, half-hugs, and laughter the rest of the night.

We ended up going out to a number of college bars that night. We were all on the upper end of college-age at that time, but we didn't stand out in the crowd. It was three of us: me, the triumphant hero on his return, and Brian. Brian was a veteran and a coworker of ours; we all worked at the sheriff's office at the time, and this was a rare night off for me and B.

It was a long walk to the bars from B's place, but it wasn't a bad one. The walk was even shorter after a night of drinking, and we managed to stumble home without incident. If I recall, we decided to strictly stick to beers only that night, so that helped make walking even possible.

Suddenly, Brian and I burst into song with a decidedly off-key rendering of Afroman's "Because I got High," but we somehow managed to recite nearly the whole thing at the top of our lungs. I still smile when I drive by that patch of road where the concert was held on our walk home; it's along railroad tracks that run parallel to low-traffic blacktop. Luckily, there were no homes nearby, but even if there had been, we weren't out too late. Granted, we were too late to serenade the neighborhood, but back then, nobody was around to hear it.

My best friend just laughed and stumbled, staring at us in amazement. He'd never heard the song, and he thought we'd made it up on the spot. The way we were alternating verses, first with me singing one then with B jumping in, it certainly could seem like it was extemporized. We joined each other on the chorus.

By the time we finished, we were home, and it was time for bed, but laughter wasn't left at the door with our shoes. Brian headed up to bed and K and I stayed up a little while longer chatting.

Before he shipped out, I gave him my Timex Indiglo. It was just a little $30 timepiece from Wal-Mart, but Kev never wore a watch. I told him he should probably have one for deployment, so he took it. "Just give it back when you get home."

I was giving him a stupid little goal, something to aim for.

"Thanks for the watch, man. I used it every day." He said, slurring a little, and taking the thing off his wrist, keeping his end of the bargain. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing, putting it away in my pocket.

I still have that watch. While I don't really wear one anymore, and the one I do wear was a college graduation gift from my mom, I use the one that saw action overseas when I go kayaking.

I heard Afroman come on my radio when I was driving the other day, and it brought me back to that night so many years ago.

My thoughts turn now to Brian, gone now for over three years.

I wish I'd given him a goal, something to aim for, a reason to come home, a bargain to keep.

Instead, all I can give him are fond memories on a page.

I miss your dumb, annoying ass, B. I wish you were still here to irritate us and make us laugh, man.