As a few of my parents friends helped load the last of our belongings onto the moving truck before leaving for Missouri in August 1985, I patiently waited for Billy Gibbons’ arrival.
After only one year of friendship, which seemed more like a lifetime – sharing love, life and happiness – I had to say goodbye to the boy who became the best friend I ever had.
We were relocating halfway across the country to the Queen City of the Ozarks, where I attended college.
Just as I thought Billy wasn’t coming because it was too much for him to bare, I heard the familiar rumble of his red Ford pickup truck coming down the road.
He overslept; so we didn’t have time for long goodbyes.
As we stood behind his truck, my father called out to me and said it was time to be heading out.
I told Billy I wasn’t going to cry or say goodbye because that seemed so final. But as we hugged each other remembering all the special memories we shared, a tear formed in my left eye.
As we broke our embrace, the tear made its way down my cheek. Billy wiped it with his thumb and put his hand around my neck and exclaimed, “You’re crying!”
I gripped his arm and replied, “One out of two isn’t bad.”
Climbing into the truck, my father asked if I was going to be all right.
As I watched Billy getting back into his truck from the side mirror on the door, I remembered something I once heard, “That which doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger.” I smiled through my tears and said that I would be just fine.
That was over 30 years ago. I replayed the aforementioned narrative in my mind a dozen time like a movie on the silver screen during my two and a half hour drive to Myrtle Beach, S.C. in March 2017 for a long overdue reunion with my best friend.
While Billy and I never corresponded directly, we kept up with each other’s lives through our mothers letter writing over the years. But with time and distance, the letters became fewer and fewer and eventually stopped.
Then with the advent of Facebook, we finally found each other again. After moving back to Clinton, I discovered my buddy had been living South of the Border for some time now with his second wife and son, ironically. He also had two grown sons from a previous marriage, one of which was also living on the South Carolina coast.
Although it was a rather short drive in comparison to the trips I have taken in the past, it took over 30 years to get there, figuratively speaking. The anticipation was almost more than I could handle.
Arriving at my destination, I stepped from my vehicle and embraced Billy for the first time in over three decades. All those years of separation melted away as we became those lanky teenagers all over again.
Since Billy and I were like brothers, meeting his wife Paula was like gaining another sister. Then, of course, meeting his 15-year-old son, Brandon, was like déjà vu. With those blond locks, he looked just like his father at that age. In addition, I had another good looking nephew.
Walking into their beautifully decorated modular home was like stepping into the past. Even though it was the first time I ever laid eyes on the place, somehow it seemed familiar. I knew I was home.
Sitting on the couch to reminisce about the past before going to dinner, I was even greeted my their dog Gizmo, who typically stayed clear of strangers. However, I was welcomed like a familiar face. Cujo was left in the back room until we returned from Texas Roadhouse. They didn’t want their two ton white lab named Buddy jump up and knock me to the ground.
Playing board games late into the night was great fun and very nostalgic. I remember sitting around the table with Billy’s younger sister as well as my two younger sisters playing such games as Sorry, Trouble and Hungry, Hungry Hippo.
Billy and Paula gave up their master suite on the first floor for me to sleep in their newly renovated attic space. Sitting on the edge of the queen size bed getting ready to turn in for the night, my eyes were drawn to Billy’s high school senior portrait hanging on the wall.
I went to sleep that night dreaming of all the fun-filled times we had together as kids. I was comforted by the fact that my family was whole again.
The next morning after a late breakfast, the whole family piled into the car and went to the Grand Prix. We had a ton of fun packed into a couple hours.
Of course, throwing my lower back out on the go-carts, didn’t exactly help. Although I was ecstatic to have won the race. But like a trooper, I kept plugging away as we played various games in the arcade, including my all time favorite – air hockey.
Billy and I spent the evening together when he took me to Medieval Times. With my dislocated lower back and his bad knee, we looked like a couple of old men hobbling around the castle. But it was great fun to eat with our hands and cheer on our favorite knight.
Following an early breakfast and a Sunday morning worship service, we had lunch at CiCi’s Pizza before our reunion weekend finally came to an end.
As I bid Billy and his little family a fond farewell, hugging each one, I vowed to never let go again.