My relationship with David is complicated. He was my best friend for about half my life. 

Actually, I guess that isn’t all that complicated.

I’ve been there through many of his family’s blessings and tragedies. We traveled across the country together. I helped him move a dozen times. I stood in his wedding as a Groomsman. I even stayed with his family at his Aunt’s farmhouse in Lafayette, Louisiana during Hurricane Katrina.

He was in an elite class of people I respected.

David is a complicated guy. He’s smart and well-meaning. Very resourceful and extremely dependable. Perhaps the best word to describe him is determined. Whenever he’s set his mind to something, he’s achieved great things.

He was also very popular with women. When we were young men, I occasionally wondered if he carried bacon and chocolate in his pockets. While I never really got an answer to that question, I think what women really saw in him was his confidence. Of all our differences, I think that’s where we’re polar opposites.

But for all the great things about David, he has two fatal flaws. Hubris and wrath. For the purposes of this story, I’ll concentrate on the latter. 

Years from now, David will most likely be remembered by family, friends and enemies alike for his temper. Most of the time, he’s a semi-normal, more or less charming guy. But every once in a while, something will set him off. 

You know those tapes of Mel Gibson threatening to burn his girlfriend’s house down while she blows him? It’s a little like that, but louder and not nearly as hilarious.

One of my most vivid memories of David came on the third day we were there. The apartment complex was owned by Disney, but run and guarded by a private company who hired rent-a-cops with a hard-on for screwing with college kids. As with all security guards, they preferred to take it easy on their real jobs in favor of enforcing pointless rules, like vehicle restrictions. 

The parking guidelines in particular seemed to be their field of expertise. When you parked your car, your tires had to be between the yellow lines and not an inch off. It didn’t matter if there were no other cars within a mile of yours, as was often the case towards our end of the complex. If you crossed the yellow parking line, they slapped a giant, ugly violation sticker on your window.

David owned a navy blue 1999 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. It had chrome headers, custom exhaust and other modifications I don’t pretend to understand, putting out about 395 horses. It is by far the sexiest seat my ass has ever had the pleasure of sitting in. I miss that car.   

As you might imagine, David was very protective of the Trans Am. He’d worked his ass off to get the money to buy it.

On that third day, most of us happened to be upstairs waiting for one of our orientation sessions. Without warning the door ripped open, only to be slammed just as quickly and furiously by an insanely red-faced David. Confused by the display, we all asked what was wrong. Without bothering to acknowledge us, he rushed over to the house phone and dialed the number for Security.

“This is David over in 3611. I don’t know which one of you motherfuckers did it, but SOMEBODY put an ORANGE FUCKING STICKER on my thirty thousand dollar car, and I’m about to whip somebody’s motherfucking ass!!!! So you better get his ass down here quick and call an ambulance!”

This may seem like an embellishment on my part. 

I assure you, it is not.

You could hear us all pissing ourselves as visions of police brutality danced through our heads. Apparently David’s tire had just barely touched one of the lines, ending with Vista Way security defacing his car with a sticker. He was a little perturbed.   

After threatening Vista Way security over the phone, David turned and walked out the door to brawl with Barney Fife’s flunkies. As for the rest of us, not a word was spoken, yet we conversed telepathically.

What the fuck?! Did that just happen?

Dude.

That asshole is going to get us all kicked out!

DUDE.

Anybody want to see if they kick his ass?

DUDE!

What are we sitting here for!?

We ran out of the apartment and looked out from our third floor stairway, waiting to see how the situation would unfold.

A few minutes later we saw David standing alone in the parking lot like a solitary gun slinger awaiting his fate. Within seconds security had him surrounded, twelve to one.  There were golf carts and whistles everywhere. It was like the goofiest Western I had ever seen.

Get on the ground now!

Keep your hands where we can see them!

Pull down your pants and play with your balls!!

I’m just kidding. I have no idea what they actually said to him. They let him off with a warning, but from then on they kept an eye on all of us, and no less than three eyes on David at all times. He would eventually see consequences for that incident. But once again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Despite everything that I’ve said here, this isn’t how I’ll remember David. Honestly, I had all but forgotten this story. As funny as it was, it had nearly gotten lost among the hundreds of other things we’ve been through. 

There are few instances of his rage that stick out in my memories. Some, but not many.

What I think I’ll remember most are our road trips. Whether our destination was Orlando, Tennessee, Arizona or wherever else, I always had the best times and the best stories on the road with him. I think it’s like that for a lot of guys. There’s something about men being on the road together. Maybe it goes back to the Old West and Cowboys managing herds in the great wide open. Whatever the reason; I miss those times.

Our last road trip was to their new home in another state. We loaded up their whole lives in a giant U-haul and drove East. This wasn’t the first time I’d helped him move out of Louisiana, but as we drove down the interstate, I knew that it was the end of an era. 

Sadly, I didn’t know how right I was. A year and a half later, we parted ways.

Many times over the years, I had been treated like part of his family. Not just with his wife and kids, but with his mother and siblings as well. Technically, my first wedding gig as a photographer was for his Mom’s wedding. The photographer had dropped out at the last second and as I went to take my seat, someone tossed me a camera and asked me if I would mind shooting the wedding. As it turns out, my second wedding shoot was also by accident. Thankfully, I did eventually get some paying gigs.

Those are some great memories, but they weren’t all good times. 

We’re not friends anymore, but the good outweighs the bad. I’m upset and disappointed in him, but I don’t look back in anger.  

No one and nothing lasts forever.

Appreciate the time you have with the people you care about. And be thankful for the positives they brought into your life.

I hope David has an amazing life.