I've got friends in low places.

Growing up, I had a group of friends that I would constitute as my “best friends”.  I met Matthew in kindergarten, under the parachute, he was about 8 feet taller than me, he walked up to me and said, “You are my best friend now.”  He was so big, I was not going to say no!  So, a friendship started.

In third grade, I met “Bobby”. (This name is protected)  I viewed him almost as a rival.  He was just as, if not more, dorky than me.  And almost as funny.  I also met Scott.   This kid was about as tall as Matthew , he was in the lunch room, and he was seeing how many chocolate milks he could drink.  I think he was somewhere around 15, and he vomited 100% pure chocolate milk all over the lunch room.  I knew we would be friends.

In fourth grade, Omar moved into my neighborhood.  He was my first “Black Friend”.  He was faster than me, better at sports than me, funnier than me, and had (has) a heart the size of Texas.  He lived in the neighbor hood with me an Matthew M.  So, we went EVERYWHERE together.

Matthew passed away five years ago on my living room couch, of a drug overdose.  He had struggled with alcohol addiction, and had come so far.  One relapse, he decided to try Cocaine, and then took pain killers to get to sleep.  Matthew was my very best friend.  I miss him terribly.

Scott told me the second day I knew him, “When I grow up, I want to be a tattoo artist.”  No joke.  I’m serious.  Through some hard times, and a lot of partying, Scott, two months ago officially became a tattoo artist.  Now that is dedication.  He is still new, but his work is really good, and I am so proud of him for making it through the rough.

Omar, his twin sister, and I are the surviving memebers of the neigborhood crew.  Most every other kid in our neighborhood died between the ages of 18 and 20.  It was rough for us, and Matthew dying was especially rough.  I think it affects him more than he will ever admit.  He works a lot, which is understandable.  It’s not that he needs the money, but hardwork keeps the mind busy, so not to distract with sad thoughts, and memories of friends, come and gone.  I miss Omar, he is rarely around, but when he is, we pick up right where we left off, and our friendship will never die.  I wish I could see him more.

Bobby.  ahh. Bobby.  We have gone through so much together.  On my 22nd birthday, I hadn’t seen him in years.  I was living at a bar, literally, because I had no where else to go.  He wandered in that night, saw the spot I was in, and immediately, packed his car with my stuff, took me to his house, and let me live there.  We both had our problems, and my addiction became the source of everything crazy.  I moved out, and back in with my dad when my mom died and we split paths.

He works in the bar scene.  He’s addicted.  I went to see him Friday.  I cried.  I literally cried, right there in the middle of the bar.  I miss my friend.  I hate seeing him like that.  There is nothing I can say to make him see it differently.  I feel hopeless.  I feel like I am watching him go down a path I have been down, and I can’t get him to turn off of that path.  There is nothing I can do.  He weighs, no more than 100 lbs. now.  His eyes are pupils.  that’s it, just pupils.  He forgets what he is talking about.  He is not my old friend, he is just a zombie.  It kills me.

Lord I pray that You will reach down and lay a hand on “Bobby”.  He needs you.  He is hurting and there is nothing I can do.  Something needs to happen.  Something needs to save him.  That something is You Lord.  I know anything is possible through You, and I pray You can make the possible a reality.  I pray You reach all of my friends, God, and show them Your intense, insane, undying Love.  I love you God,  Please, please help them.

-Amen