Carthage

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May 14, 2003

Run, we're being chased by communists

Until I was four, my best friend's name was Ian McDonald and he lived across the street from me. We spent most days in and out of each others' back yards, pretending to be private detectives. He was pretty much willing to believe the things that I told him were true (the playhouse is our office; your little brother's office can be the plum tree; run, we're being chased by communists) and this made him a valuable friend.

When I was almost five, I started kindergarten and discovered girls. Ian and I hung on for a few more years, but eventually our detective business was supplanted by games of Rainbow Brite and the many, many pink plastic toys which the other girls owned. The day my big sister bought me my first Barbie doll (Peaches'n'Cream Barbie) was pretty much the day Ian and I broke up for good.

Although we went to the same high school, I never saw him around and wasn't really aware of him. We were both nerds, but I was a nerd with a lot of friends, which is a different and easier level of nerdery than his own. Every year I would see him at the neighborhood Christmas Eve party and he would mention the many boys constantly coming and going from my house, and in a roundabout, friendly Ian way he would imply I was a tramp. It was always nice to talk to him. After a while he went off to Oberlin and then I went off to Santa Cruz. Periodically I would see him when we were both home for weekends, and I would imagine going over and knocking on the door and inviting him out for some coffee or for a rousing game of Kill the Communist Dogs, but I never did it.

Later, Ian graduated and moved to South America to do something humanitarian, and I dropped out and moved to Seattle to do something corporate. We saw each other less, but when we did, I would consider asking him about his travels or his humanity or if he wanted to take a walk down to the sewer creek and play Tarzan on the vines again, but I never did it.

This weekend, Ian's mom sold the house and moved away. I think there is a lesson in this, but damn if I know what.

Posted by didofoot at May 14, 2003 09:20 AM

Comments

my next door neighbor growing up was named robbie. his father dealt in crack. we used to scrounge the shag carpet and underneath the cushions for loose change. it was amazing how much change those crack addicts left lying around.

Posted by: michele at May 14, 2003 10:08 AM

that was poignant. i hope i spelled that right.

Posted by: tracy at May 14, 2003 03:09 PM

My next door neighbor bestfriend was named Brett. We were born within weeks of eachother. Brett's mom, Libby, watched us in the morning while my mom was at work. And my mom watched us in the afternoon while Libby took classes. Our favorite passtime was playing with Barbies, but I would always get mad because Brett insisted on undressing each and every doll for no reason. Eventually, Brett's family got a nanny from Belgium and Libby started working full-time. Then my dad started having an affair with Brett's nanny from Belgium. When I was four and a half, we moved from Phoenix to San Diego and all of the sudden I had a Belgian nanny instead of Brett. We lived like that for a while...me with my nanny, my dad with his foreign affairs, and my mom with her bitterness and denial. Until one day my mom got mad and kicked my beligian nanny out. And I never saw or heard from her or Brett ever again.

Posted by: Jolie at May 15, 2003 01:28 PM

I played with Ian pretty consistently until I was 8 or 9. Then, he went to middle school and we stopped walking to school together, and he stopped being in love with my older sister, and we stopped hanging out.

Posted by: sean at May 15, 2003 02:29 PM

when i came back from my trip i found that my physics adviser had left the physics department for the MCB department. i don't know why, but it affected me, especially seeing the empty office and all.

also it seems that the homeless man who would sit on euclid, just down the hill from nefeli, was killed in jail last friday by his cellmate. i commented to alex merchant that, 'well, at least we know time is still moving'.

kristen, does ian have access to the electronic mail device?

sean, i promise to still call every month or so even after i'm out of love with meg.

Posted by: allen at May 16, 2003 12:54 PM

which homeless man? the one with the beard?

not the one with the dog, right?!

Posted by: didofoot at May 16, 2003 03:21 PM

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