He's My Friend

This little story may be part of my next project, let me know what you think if you have a little time. Thank you!

He's My Friend
By Terry Beck

R C is a friend of mine. I really can't say how long I've known him but it seems like a long time. I met R C at the gym, a gym I have been a part of for over thirty years. I really can't remember a time when R C wasn't a part of my fond memories with regards to the gym and those who shared the goal of living longer through fitness. He's told me but I don't remember his age. I can remember he is several years older than me and I am seventy years of age. R C is tall, slim, with red hair, plenty of energy and always wears a bandana on his head. He is from East Texas and retired from the Ft. Worth Star Telegram after thirty years. He had accumulated ten or twelve years working for news papers in Marshall, Longview and Dublin, Texas prior to working for the Star-Telegram.

I asked how long he had been married and he answered, "Well, I been married to this gal for forty-five years and I was married fourteen years to the gal before her!" R C likes to talk about his shop back at his house and the things he makes, in particular knives. He made me a knife back years ago. It is a Bowie style knife and I am terribly proud to have it. R C and I do a lot of talking when we ought to be working out. We talk about railroading, arrowhead hunting, beer drinkin', his kinfolks and growin' up in East Texas. He likes to talk about the old Suburban he drives to the gym. He sadly talks about getting rid of it but says he would at least like to get three hundred thousand miles out of it, which won't be long. I kid R C about all the different law enforcement stickers he has stuck all over his Suburban. I accuse him of thinking those stickers will help him out if he is stopped by law enforcement on his way home from the "beer joint" some night. He shrugged and said you never know but quickly said he does support law enforcement.

I guess it may be a sad thing to admit but most of my social activities are associated with the gym. Most of my local friends and acquaintances have either worked at or been members of the gym. Back about eight or ten years ago I began having a party for gym members and employees and after several years of having the party the attendance grew up to fifty or sixty people. There was never a formal invitation to the party, it was more word of mouth.

R C didn't attend the first several parties because he wasn't invited. One day, not long after one of our parties, R C and I were talking at the gym when someone walked up and said how much they had enjoyed the gym party at my house. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. I first looked for a rug to crawl under, however, because he had always been a straight shooter with me, I decided to shoot straight with him. I told him about the parties and the fact I was sorry about not inviting him. I told him that I felt uncomfortable about his language around my wife and certain other folks attending the parties.

You see, ole R C is a man of many a cuss word. I can think of very few of his quotes that don't contain a cuss word or two or three. This is where it is a little hard to describe R C. He cusses and swears a lot but is not profane toward others. He is a loyal man who will always shoot straight with friends and foe alike. You may not feel comfortable with some of the bullets he uses but I would trust R C in dire straits. He laughs more than he frowns, works hard and will always be there if needed. He will always let you know how he feels about things in general, it's just that some may feel uncomfortable about his word selection.

I told R C we were going to have another party soon. I told him I would like for him to be there but he would need to make me a promise. He would have to do all he possibly could to control his cussing. I admitted I was not perfect when it came to my language, in particular cussing, but I did try to think of those around me when choosing my words. I asked if he would come to the party. He asked if he could bring beer. I said yes. He said he would be there.

The day of the party was a perfect day. Attendance was good. It was always good to see these folks in something other than their sweaty ole workout stuff, they cleaned up pretty good. I looked up and in walked R C wearing a cowboy hat, country attire, a six pack under his arm and a big ole smile. He walked straight to me, shook my hand and said thanks for inviting him to the party.

He walked into the crowd shaking hands and saying hello. It wasn't long, maybe fifteen minutes but no longer than thirty, I turned around and there stood R C. He stuck out his hand, looked around to see if anyone was within hearing distance, and said, "I got to go. This shit was harder than I thought it would be but thank you again for the invite!"

Well, he kept his promise and I'm proud to say, he's my friend.