The year was 1964. Tommy was my best friend. I was downstairs in his basement. He was in “prison”, a term he jokingly called the punishments that were dealt out by his cruel insane father.
I was allowed to visit him, which I thought strange, since I was always the one he got in trouble with. Maybe they thought I could “reach” him, unfortunately they were mistaken, and he took his life 5 years later at 19.
Some people just don’t mix without trouble. We were simple volatile. High fives, and laughing our asses off were the standard. There were so many times that Tommy and I got into trouble (including police) that I can’t honestly remember which one was the exact “crime” he was in “prison” for, in his basement that night when we were 14.
But I do remember him turning me on to this new British band, the “Rolling Stones”, and he played their new album for me.
I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over losing Tommy. And I don’t mean losing him when he committed suicide. I lost him a few years before when he got hooked on heroin.
I lost him when he started hanging with the hep croud at Winters ice cream parlor, and was just too cool for me.
I’ve always hoped that there is an afterlife. If there is, I know Tommy will be waiting for me on the other side, along with Julius, and my Dad.
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