syn1c.com – Noise

I didn’t realize when I woke up this morning that my best friend was going to die. If I had known that, I don’t think I would have gotten out of bed.

Sal was one of those guys everyone liked. He was always willing to lend a hand, even if it meant he was going to have to put aside something he wanted or needed to do it. That’s just who he was.

When I was 7, my mom decided to move me and her to the city. She got offered a new job or something. All it meant to me was that all the grass and trees were gone, replaced by lamp posts and concrete. That summer was starting off bad. I was never good at making friends, and having to move from the only two people I even considered friends (I can’t even remember their names now, funny how that works), was tough. My first few weeks in the city were spent in front of the tv or outside, watching the local boys play stickball. They never asked me to play, and I never asked to join, it was our unspoken agreement. That was until Sal showed up.

Immediately, Sal was different. While being the same age as me (though I didn’t know it then), he looked older. He just had this look, this confidence. I remember he had a huge wad of chewing gum in his cheek, and he kept spitting like it was tobacco (funny thing, in all my years, I never saw Sal drink or smoke, I think that chewing gum was his vice). He had this old beat up Phillies hat, (which I had found out he had gotten from one of the Phillies himself, it was the greatest hat ever), and what looked like a genuine Phillies jersey (it couldn’t have been, we were only 7). He looked like he was going to go down to the Vet and play that Sunday.

As soon as he entered, everyone started gathering around him, Hearing the kids yell “Hey Sally”, and “Yo Sally hows ya doing?” What I found funny, sitting there on the stoop, was that Sally to me was a girls name, and this was no girl. I also quickly realized that they weren’t making fun of him calling him Sally. Weird.

After he said hi to the group, it became evident to me that he was the leader of this rag tag group of kids. They all looked up to him (mostly because he was so tall), and he held himself with an air of confidence that I’ll never forget.

“Hi.” I quickly looked away. “Sally” was standing in front of me, holding a cut up broomstick. “Wanna play wid us?”

“I don’t think I’d be very good.” I quickly realized that the cracks on the stoop were the most interesting thing I had ever seen.

“C’mon, we need one more for even teams.” He held out his hand like he was the mayor of the city, “I’m Sal.”

I looked up, and could see a smile that was missing 2 teeth. It was a warm inviting smile; one that without thinking made me put out my hand, and introduced me to my best friend.

We spent that afternoon, and the rest of the summer, playing stick ball. Winter was hockey, and sometimes football (concrete hurts when you are tackled). I quickly became friends with the whole neighborhood, and felt like I was one of the gang, but Sal was my confidant, my priest.

By the time we were almost done with high school, Sal and I decided to join the Navy. While it wasn’t my thing, Sal excelled (as he seemed to do in everything), and by the time my four years was up, he decided to stay a bit longer.

When I went back to the city, it was nice to have the lamp posts and concrete, and the familiar surroundins, but it wasn’t the same without Sal. We wrote to each other all the time, and when he’d be on leave we’d hang out. Even the thousands of miles between us didn’t stop our friendship. At this point I started working the mill, working with metal.

“That’s gonna be the death of ya,” Sal said to me, his Navy service finally ended. We hugged each other at the train station, and I brought him to my beat up car. The cigarette sticking out my mouth was something I picked up at the mill, it was like induction to working there (here’s your mask, your apron, and your pack of smokes, haha). I hadn’t told Sal that, mostly because I was ashamed. Whereas most of the kids we grew up with had gotten into drinking, or worse, Sal never did nothing. I think it was because his dad was a bit more into the drink than he should have been. Once in a while Sally would show up with a shiner, or a bruised up arm. We both knew what it was from, but I had too much respect for him to ask him about it.

I smiled sheepishly, putting out the cigarette on the ground. Sally was home!

Time moves on, and Sal wound up moving out of the city, to the middle of a development like 500 miles away, with his new wife and the promise of a new job. Immediately it started going well for him there and before he knew it he was well liked around town and his job was going well.

In contrast, I had a wife who berated me, made sure I came right home from work every day, and who I had the sneaking suspicion had been thinking I was rich or something. “Watch her,” Sal told me for the umpteenth time, as he adjusted my tie. “She may seem all sweet now, but there’s something I don’t trust.” After he said this, he hugged me, and walked out of the room as my best men at my wedding.

While things at work weren’t bad, they were mostly just boring. After doing this for 15 years, I had begun to realize that I had other things I felt I needed to try. Talking on the phone to Sal about this he kept mentioning we should move up by him, plenty of opportunity. Said with my experience he could get me a job making more, possibly a manager position. Finally, one bright sunny Friday afternoon I told my boss I was quitting, grabbed my paycheck, and went home, excited to tell my wife about the changes we were gonna make.

When I pulled up, I knew something was wrong. There was this big black car pulled up in front of our house (where I put out the lawn chairs that morning to keep my spot). I walked up to the house and the door was locked (she never locked the door, ever during the day).

“Honey,” I yelled as I walked in. Walking through the house I couldn’t find her. Moving towards the bedroom I stopped. The noises were unmistakable. My stomach began fluttering. I opened the door slightly, and promptly lost everything that had been in my stomach. I quickly closed the door, grabbed the few things I cared about, and went to my mothers. While I told her what happened somewhat, on the phone I babbled it all to Sal between sobs and a bottle of whiskey. He was calm, supportive. Even though he had warned me of her, and I was too stupid to listen, he never once called me out on that. The next day he came down, we cleared out my stuff (after a wonderful shouting match that ended with my favorite beer stein getting chucked at my head), and I temporarily stared at my mothers.

I went through the motions of filing a divorce (no kids thank God). For her being unfaithful, and me having done nothing wrong, she got the house and the car, as well as my savings. Me, I got a nice lawyer bill. Justice eh? For months I stayed in my mother’s house. Doing nothing. Smoked a lot of cigarettes, drank til I passed out, watched tv or sat on the stoop. Depressing.

One Saturday morning (musta been around 8 or so), there was a knock at the door. Standing there, bright eyed and smiling (his missing teeth long since gone) was Sal. He hugged me, said hi to my mother (this must have all been a plot by the two of them), and proceeded to grab all my stuff from my old room and load it into his car.

By the time noon hit and my mother had stuffed us with her amazing pasta and meatballs (I’m telling ya one of those things could choke and Ostrich, but I watched Sally put down like 5 of them), we were on our way. Where you ask?

Well, Sal’s new job up there was in real estate. He became well versed in the buying and selling of property, both commercial and residential. It made him money, and it also had him invest in the stock market. “Now listen to me,” Sal had said one night on the phone, “I know it’s a lot of money, but I’ll make sure to get it back to you.” Sal had asked me for five hundred dollars. This was like a year after he had moved to the suburbs. By that point Sal had never asked me for anything. He never needed to. But here he was on the phone, asking me for a wad of cash. I think part of me beamed that night as I sent him over half of my savings, the thought of Sally needing something from me made me feel good.

As Sal was always good to his word, 3 months later there was a check for me for that same five hundred. I put it back in the bank and promptly forgot about it.

As we’re pulling into this driveway of this nice looking home in the burbs, Sal hands me a piece of paper.

“What is this Sally…” the words trail off as I look at this check.

As Sal bought and sold stock, he had gotten good at it. It was just another thing he succeeded at, while normal people like me and you would be totally confused. Well Sal had taken that five hundred, and made it multiply. A lot. More than I could count honestly.

“I can’t take this.”

“It’s yours. You earned it. I just made your money work for you.”

Once he explained how it all worked (as best he could, it was still over my head), he told me about the storm he saw coming my way. About how he saw trouble with my ex-wife, and he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to be screwed. He also knew how a divorce (he knew this was going to happen, I tell ya he’s psychic) would basically take away all my money and belongings, so he made sure not to mention this to me or my wife, (he told my mom though, funny how that works).

The house we were in the driveway of was mine. His (with his wife and little girl) was next door. While my house in the city still had like 18 years of mortgage left, this was paid in full. All in my name. I couldn’t believe it. As I cried, Sal held me, telling me how excited he was to have me as his neighbor. Unbelievable.

This morning I woke up. Earlier than I had in months. While this house looked different, and felt different, it was starting to feel right. The drinking of the previous months was gone, replaced with coffee (black, lots of sugar). I went onto the back porch (in the city they are stoops, here they are porches, go figure) and lit up.

“I keep telling ya, those things’ll kill ya” Sal said to me. I smiled. The sun was just starting to rise, and there was a nice chill to the air. Sal was in his jogging outfit (only time I ever saw jogging outfits were on the old guys in the neighborhood, and they never ran in them), having just finished his run, I guessed.

As I walked back into the house to get more coffee, I looked out the bay window to the front. There was an ambulance, and what looked like Sal’s wife, in her bathrobe. Laying on a stretcher was someone (oh God), in a red and black outfit.

I dropped the coffee cup, not noticing it shatter into thousands of slivers, and went back outside. Sal was sitting there, eyes closed, the sun shining his red hair, almost making it look like it was on fire.

“Remember the day we met?” he asked me, his skin looking more radiant than usual. I nodded, uttering something close to yes. My hands shook as I grabbed a smoke, lighting it quickly. My tears began to stream down my face.

“You looked so sad and mopey, sitting there. I couldn’t imagine anyone being that sad. For some reason I just knew I had to get you off that stoop.” His eyes didn’t open. The sun just kept getting brighter on his face. My tears were gushing, salty, bitter.

Finally Sal opened his eye and looked at me. While his eyes were still blue, I could see the ocean in them, it was terrifying. In an instant I lived through everything he and went through for a second time. From that time playing stick ball til last night’s barbecue. It was all there. And it hurt.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he said. He stood up. His skin was so bright it was golden. At this point I was crying in loud sobs, shaking my head, “No, no it’s not.”

Immediately I felt this warmth envelope me. This deep, calm came over me, and for an moment, I felt Sal’s friendship to me as a physical feeling. And then it was gone. I opened my eyes, and ran out front to meet Sal’s wife, who was crying.

It was too late. Sal was gone by the time I got out there. Heart attack. The guy who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, kept healthy by running 5 miles a day had a damned heart attack.

The day was a blur. Most of it spent in the hospital. Then at a funeral parlor with Sal’s wife. Sal, being the planner he was, made sure everything had been taken care of financially, all that was left was signing the forms.

By the time I got home, the light was fading. I hugged Sal’s wife, and went to my own house. I felt bitter, cheated, but mostly just sad. I grabbed a cigarette, and went to the back porch, thinking I must have imagined this morning. Maybe I had the cancer or something. Maybe I’d die too. And then, sitting on the table on the porch I saw it. The unlit cigarette dropping out of my mouth.

A beat up Phillies hat. The brim so torn it looked like it had been through the war.. The red P so faded it looked brown. I picked it up, and immediately felt him, his presence. I cried again, holding that hat like it was my firstborn.

So here I sit. Hat on my knee. My face red, puffy. Sun’s just starting to come up. Haven’t slept. What now? I walk out towards the porch, grabbing my smokes, and put that hat on my head. In the backyard the sun is just starting to melt the morning wetness, and I can feel a slight chill go up and down my spine.

Without a thought I feel myself crushing the pack. “Those things’ll kill ya,” I say to no one. I walk out to the front door, seeing this world, this beautiful place that my best friend made sure I’d be a part of. As I opened the door, I could feel my heart beating faster. I began to run. As I ran, with a faded Phillies hat on my head, I felt Sal next to me, running with me. I could hear his voice, and I smiled. As I smiled, I finally felt at peace. Thank you Sally. I love you.