0105
dear william b. van sickle,
you went by bj, but i don't tell people that because if i did, they would laugh, and i would clench my fists until my fingernails drew blood. so you remain william b. van sickle to me. you were my best and greatest childhood friend, and i'm really not just saying that. i was seven, you were ten. my parents got divorced and then my mother was in the hospital so i had nowhere else to go after school. you were the same way - linda, your mom, was the office manager, and that's how we ended up with our legs folded under my father's desk. sometimes my dog was there too, before she died of cancer that we thought was just arthritis.
we thought we were secret agents, which is funny now but wasn't then. one of us would scout the doors while the other fished out quarters from the back of my dad's desk drawers - which, thinking of it, were magically replenished every day. you'd always make me buy beef jerky and you'd tell me that since you were older than me you knew best. you were a pretty high belt in karate (or so you said) and you'd threaten to chop off my head daily, even demonstrating your high kicks.
you made me do your homework once and you said that i was a wonderful colorer, and i blushed, i remember. i was madly in love with you for a seven year old. i just assumed we'd get married. your favorite ice cream flavor was superman and i pretended to like it until your mom embezzled money and we weren't allowed to play after school anymore.
so you put a bullet through your skull or so the newspaper said.
and william b. van sickle, i am so sorry about the way life is sometimes.