“Close family friend.” It’s a phrase that has, over the years, described a great many people. But as my family dwindles, and we scatter to the wind, it seems there are fewer and fewer people in our lives who we still call “close family friends.”
Bill is a close family friend. He graduated high school in 1987, in the same year as my brother, and his sister was my sister’s best friend for most of that time. Our families have always been pretty close. He gravitated away from our hometown, went into the Army, and traveled the world.
Once in a while, he’d come back to town to hang out, drink his fair share, bring some girls home, and then go back to the world. He and Hemingway occupy nearly the same space in my mind…two men who did some crazy shit in their lifetimes, and often their behavior bordered on the absurd. After his first tour in the Army, Bill came back home to visit my brother (hitchhiked from Colorado, I believe). While he was home, he slipped on the icy steps on my brother’s front porch, and broke his leg. He ended up staying for several months while it healed, living at my brother’s house. Strange turn of events, but it sure was nice having him around for a few months.
Another time, he showed up (hitchhiked again) with a huge cast on his forearm. Apparently, he had gotten in a drunken street fight in some other land (Mexico? Puerto Rico? Hell, I can’t remember), and his thumb had been horribly broken. Of course, that didn’t stop him from laying out several dudes. There were many stories like this.
Once, when I went to Colorado to visit my sister, we went to see a huge house on the Continental Divide…a multi-million-dollar house that Bill was helping to build. He was pretty well capable of getting work like this wherever he went.
Bill was also a huge hit with the ladies. In all seriousness, I saw women crumble in his gaze for no reason other than his unflagging charm. Being the guy I am, I always kinda smirked at it, knowing he had slept with way more people than any sane man should…but of course, the truth is I wanted the talent. I envied him, to a certain extent, but I always kept a watchful eye on him. Towards the end of my college career, I found out that he had slept with an ex-girlfriend of mine…which honestly didn’t bother me, since I’d spent 3.5 years with her and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that we were wrong for each other. But still, it taught me that keeping my eyes open was a smart move. Within a year after that, Bill was out on the town with my brother, my sister, me and my (next) girlfriend, with whom I was madly in love. During that evening, his charm was directed at said girlfriend, and if she hadn’t been stronger, it might have ended very badly. Nothing happened, so I didn’t hold it against him.
Five years ago (or more, hell, I can’t even remember), Bill got some kind of blemish on the side of his face. I think it started as something like a serious pimple, but it developed into more of a cyst. He didn’t go to see a doctor about it, even after it had turned into something more serious. He eventually did go to the doctor when the whole side of his face suddenly started to swell up. At that point, though, the damage had already been done. He had surgeries to address the problem, but he ended up losing much of the muscle control and definition on the side of his face. It has disfigured him for the rest of his life.
Many other people, in a similar situation, would just start pitying themselves and never snap out of it. The man had been very handsome, and never had to worry about his looks. I mean, odds are, he probably kicked himself for not going to the doctor sooner…but each time I saw him afterward, he was in good spirits, and had no problem with showing his face in public. He knew it’s what’s on the inside that counts.
In December of 2005, I went to my hometown to attend my father’s funeral, and sift through the house I grew up in for the last time. While I was there, I heard several stories about Bill’s recent activities…apparently he had come around talking about mystical creatures, government conspiracies (against him), and various other things that didn’t make any sense. It seemed like schizophrenic behavior. Eventually, he was voluntarily committed to the VA hospital, but eventually discharged with a diagnosis of some form of manic-depressive illness (please note, all of this is hearsay, and my memory isn’t good…take none of it as 100% truth).
Recently, Bill has started showing up in friends’ and family members’ lives, and has started scaring people. He’s living out in the world, he’s got something going on inside his head, and it looks like he’s not going to get proper help until he gets in serious trouble with the law. The only two people in the world who can possibly have him committed against his will…most likely won’t.
I miss the old Bill. I get scared when I hear these stories, thinking he’ll never be back to his old self. I once admired him so much. The things he’s seen, the conversations he’s had, the people he’s met, and the experiences he’s lived to tell about. Many of them were simply unbelievable…but I have no doubt they were true. But now…fuck, please don’t tell me that the world has lost one of the good ones.