Once upon a time in high school, I had a friend named Aron Delacruz. The way he'd sign his name, the A kind of looked like a T and eventually I took to calling him Trondela. He sat behind me in one of my classes and because of my long neck and my bob haircut, he decided I looked like a mushroom and from then on, he called me Shroom. He and Crusty dated for a bit and the two of us double dated to our junior homecoming. Then, since I like sloppy seconds apparently, I dated him for a bit. On my end it was only as serious as high school dating could be (a.k.a. not serious at all) and mostly he was just a great friend to have. He gave me a big, huge black hickey once that was the grossest thing I had ever seen but that's another story for another day. He used to always be working on a car and the one that stands out the most is a bright yellow VW square-back station wagon with a surfboard sticking out the back window and a SOUL sticker on it. BFF, Krystee and I hung out at his house ALL THE TIME. His dad, Don, was constantly trying to feed us, offering to make a turkey in the dark hours of the night. We were always going to the beach together or listening to him and the guys practice playing their instruments in his garage. Of course, there was always some pot smoking going on and maybe a tattoo or two being given with a homemade tattoo gun. Once, my Ford Taurus got stuck in the sand because they convinced me I could drive it on the beach. When it had to be pulled out, everything was fine and dandy until Aron punched the gas and backed into a friend's spare tire on the back of his jeep and dented the shit out of my trunk. That was Aron. All good intentions but a bit of a flake. He always had a smile and a hug to offer and was just an all around positive person about whom I can't think of a single bad thing to say. He ended up transferring to a different high school before graduation and we just drifted apart. I ran into him several years ago and he was expecting his daughter to be born. Over the weekend he was killed in a motorcycle accident and suddenly my heart just felt broken. So many memories came flooding back and it's hard to believe another friend from high school is gone.
MORAL OF THAT STORY: You never know when your time is up so live every day like it's your last and be sure to let the ones you love know it before it's too late. Death shouldn't bring us together, life should.