You’ve Got to Be Joking

Friends

Chapter two

Have you ever had one of those friends who knew exactly what you’re thinking all the time? The kind of person that could end your next sentence before you even started it? Did you feel like you had to spend every waking moment with them? Inside your mind to you have a library of memories, cataloged and always available for recollection when you are sad, silent or alone?
That’s Joseph.

We were best friends from the beginning. It was a friendship that spanned almost three years. In the adult mind that seems like such a short time, however three years was an eternity. Whether it was running around the farm, catching snakes, fishing, swimming in the creek, picking up eggs, cleaning out stalls, playing in the mud, climbing trees, burning things, or just playing with the animals, it didn’t matter, everything was fun. It wasn’t necessarily what we did, and was that we did it together.

Joseph was the kind of friend that always included your little brother in whatever you are doing. We spent almost every weekend together. I’m not sure what our moms were thinking, maybe they just wanted us to leave them alone? But it didn’t matter, just as long as we got to hang out.

As a sit here and think about Joseph, so many stories flood my mind. I remember drawing and copying pictures and articles out of the encyclopedia. Our parents thought it was funny, but we thought it was really cool to be able to name and catalog what spiders and snakes we had found that day.

Joseph was the closest person to Jesus I knew. He was unconditionally caring and I never remember a moment that he didn’t smile. He had this infectious smile and laugh. You could not be angry at him, we was just so kind.

Joseph, let’s build a fort. It was raining outside, so Joseph’s mom Marlene allowed us to build a huge tent fort right in the middle of the floor in the living room. We took over the entire area. Indians, tigers and Skeletor were all after us and we were holding up against the imagined enemy with all vim and vigor. Those were good times that affected me for a lifetime.

If I were to end this story right here, you would think my life was fun and all happiness, however, it doesn’t end happily ever after. I will never forget one weekend that I didn’t want to go to Joseph’s I wanted to stay home and play by myself. We spent every weekend together and for some odd reason I didn’t want Joseph to come to my house. For years since, I have tried to ask myself just what I was thinking and why, however, hind sight is always twenty-twenty. There are some things we cannot allow ourselves to much time to focus on them.

That weekend, my parents received the worst phone call I can remember. Joseph was in critical condition in the hospital. He has been hit by a car. He was crossing the road as we had done so many times before to go to a small gas station that we used to always get candy from. As he was crossing the road, a 16 year old boy was turning the corner speeding in excess of 60 miles per hour. Joseph did not have a chance. He was hit and thrown off the road.

What makes this story worse is that same boy was in the church I attended where I had been baptized just a year and a half before. His dad was a deacon and family had long been members. This made it hard for years to come to even like church.
While Joseph lay in the hospital dying, my parents went to see him. They left my brother and I with my grandma Hass. As we waited, I remember lying on the floor with my face down, crying and praying that GOD would come and heal Joseph. I’m not even sure how much time transpired. Everything seemed to slow down around me. Have you ever had the experience of time slowing down? It seems like one moment can take thousands of years to live and at the same time, you can turn around and it’s been hours when you felt like you had been there just moments. No matter how long I had been there, it didn’t matter, time was moving on and there was no way to stop it, no way to go back and pray and ask GOD to roll the hours back to allow me one chance to change my part in the whole horrible story. There was no way I would ever be able to go back and invite Joseph to spend the night at my house rather than turning him down for the invitation to stay at his.

The door knocked, feet shuffled, voices mumbled and then I heard the words that would alter the direction and course of my life forever, “Honey, Joseph was hurt really bad and he didn’t make it. Joseph is dead.” The actual wording or vocabulary used escapes my mind at the moment, since it’s been so long and I had blocked it out of mind for over 13 years. The effect was still the same. For the next couple of years, I became a recluse, I remember not being able to play, I remember the depression, I can still feel the burning in my chest. Why had I lived and Joseph not? Why could I not get the memory of his casket out of my mind? Why did I often find myself in his funeral, there at his church in my memories? Why was I left to pray, “Oh GOD let me die like Joseph so I can see him again?” Why was I left with the recurring nightmare of; a monster that came up the stairs and drug my friend away? Why?

I remember the counseling, the preachers, the prayers, the stories and the absolute piles of bull-crap people used to say.

“I know exactly how you feel…”

“I’ve been there before…”

“You’ll see him again some day…”

“GOD just wanted another angel…”

BULL CRAP! So, I did what any bright young mind would do. After a couple of years, I blocked it all out. The only catch was that with it went ALL my memories with GOD involved. I figured that HE hadn’t gotten me through or saved Joseph, so obviously, HE just didn’t involve HIMSELF with the current affairs of men. Prayer became something I had to do instead of something I “got” to do. And the style of prayer went from personal, to one that sounded like I grew up in 1611 with the language of King James being the only true way to pray. “Thee, Thou, Thus, Saith, Shalt,words that end with a “ –th” and many other terms that are used in King James only circles. We weren’t a King James only house; however, my prayers became those hollow, callous kinds of prayers.
Church had lost its power. GOD was only watching. People had to protect themselves. I was alone.