When we first met, some 35 years ago, I was so pregnant with my first baby, I resembled an overstuffed couch. I'd forsaken style when I couldn't reach around my own belly to shave my legs, sporting enough hair to scrape clean a BBQ grill. You, having just sold a million dollar house, crossed our threshold like a runway-model, tall and confident, pivoting on heels resembling knitting needles. You warmly embraced me and I caught the subtle scent of an exotic perfume. The last fragrance I'd worn came from a flap ripped from a waiting-room magazine. “I'm so envious,” you whispered midst a cheek peck. “You look amazing.” I wanted to find fault in you, something ugly. Unfortunately, we had to get along. Our husbands were loyal friends having just returned from months serving on an aircraft carrier. I loved my husband enough to oblige. Besides, you cursed, gossiped, and fiercely loved your man, instantly winning me over. That afternoon, we sat in my kitchen with the government-issued paperwork before us. Form-DD193 was a mandatory document for married officers and signing it meant one of us would be present at notification time should the other's husband get killed-in-action. While the guys watched football in the den, you and I discussed a contract where we'd bear witness to the other's worst nightmare. Before signing, you took my hands in yours. “You need to understand something.” Your eyes were sharp and sincere. “If Ken dies, I'll know. I'll simply get his gun and pull the trigger.” I gasped. Then, you made me promise never to tell a sole. In utter shock, I nodded. After releasing my hands, you flamboyantly scratched your signature on DD193 and grinned as though you'd just sold me a duplex. That afternoon, we passed across bits of ourselves like poker chips. Enamored by your every word, something more than my baby swelled inside me. It was the seedling of our friendship. In time, you confided you couldn't have children. I simply had no words. The more I understood you, the more you both fascinated and troubled me. Killing myself wasn't an option because I was a mom, but what if I wasn't? Did my not wanting to take that eternal journey with Jimmy mean I loved him less than you loved Ken? Or did it mean I loved myself more than I loved Jimmy? At 23 years old, I hadn't a clue. In many waning hours, I imagined what I'd do if I got 'that' call. Would I physically restrain you? I'd have a small advantage over you in your stilettos, but I couldn't hang on to you like a chimp forever. I once asked if you even knew how to shoot a gun. “Don't need to know when the only target is in my own mouth.” While our husbands deployed to foreign lands over the years, you and I ran the gamut of emotions. I came to understand that you missed Ken more than I had room to miss Jimmy. You and I survived Thanksgivings and Christmases together without our husbands.You held my hand when I gave birth the second time and stayed with me until Jimmy returned. You were the catalyst for my return to grad school. After years of friendship, our husbands were being transferred to opposite American coasts. We spent our last Sunday together, laughing and relaxing on deck chairs, avoiding conversation about our impending separation, but it loomed large. The following morning, Jimmy left before dawn for his last two week deployment and I was exhausted but rendered wide awake. I distracted myself with moving preparations, avoiding thoughts of going months, perhaps even years, without seeing you. By mid-afternoon, fatigue hit me like a tranquilizer dart and I laid down with the boys for a delicious nap. The phone woke me and I answered but heard only dial-tone. Sometime later, my fuzzy brain registered the doorbell ringing. I slid from the bed and jogged down the stairs, not wanting the boys to be startled awake. I opened the door to find five or six officers in dress uniforms standing before me. For a second, I was confused until the pieces quickly fell into place. I had to go with them to tell you Ken was gone. “He's dead, isn't he?” I grabbed the door frame. I had prepared for this, certainly thought about it more than the average military wife. I stifled a sob; there would be time to cry later. I took a deep breath. I had to do this for you. “What about my boys? I can't leave them here alone.” “We can help you with your sons, madam.” The tallest of the men looked uneasy in his stiff jacket as he gestured towards an impeccable, uniformed woman I hadn't noticed. “Ms. Louise is a child psychologist. She'll stay as long as you need.” Dazedly reassured, I shifted focus. I would share your plan with these professionals. Hell with betrayal, I knew what was about to unfold and it terrified me. I closed my eyes and shook my head. I prayed I was still dreaming but when I opened my eyes the officers were still there. They slowly parted as if on cue. That was when I saw you.

Living one of those lives where you can never seem to catch a break- where raw deals keep flying at you like dodge balls in P.E. class, the days where I got to sit back and let my worries vanish were the best. And those days just happened to be whenever I hung out with my best friend, Davey. We always had the greatest yet, more often than not, peculiar adventures together, and inside jokes to last a light year. National Best Friends Day was no exception. The day was already strange to begin with, Davey was half recovering from being sick with a nasty cold, and we hadn't really begun our day until 1pm. We walked to meet up with each other at a school in the middle of both our houses. Deciding what to do, our consensus was the beach, however, after sprinting to the bus stop we only then realized a three hour bus ride was maybe not something we wanted to do on a stuffy hot June afternoon. “Well why don't we go to that cool park we've always wanted to go to?” I suggested. Bad idea. “Sure!” Davey agreed and so we were off. This was the first bus ride of the day, but certainly not the last. Foreshadowing to an event that would occur later that day, Davey had seen an advertisement for fathers day as we passed by a Dairy Queen shop, and bluntly suggested that Father's Day was the most irrelevant and unnecessary holiday. I quite agreed. “Are you sure you know where this bus goes and where we're supposed to get off?” I nodded hoping I was right. That's when a random man turned around and felt the need to comment, ‘you girls are lost.' Was he offering to help? No. He was simply wasting breath on a completely useless unhelpful sentence. After finally reaching our desired location, it was quickly evident that maybe this wasn't the safest area to be hanging around in. Doing our best to avoid being mugged, and after having to look at three street maps, we found our way to the bus station where we would attempt to turn this glorious day around with a trip to a small beach much closer to us. We made it to the bus just in time, and without any wait we were off. The only occupants on this small bus were the bus driver, Davey, and I. Everything was smooth sailing until a man whom we will call, Chummy, gets on. Now, Chummy was not looking too good, nonetheless I was never one to judge, so I sat quietly but I could tell Davey wasn't too comfortable with our new guest. Firstly, as Chummy hopped aboard, he communicated that he did not have any money to pay for the bus as he was going to get money from his ex-girlfriend right now. Okay, fair enough, I'm sure we've all forgot or ran out of bus money one time or another. He took a seat right behind the bus driver, with Davey and I only being across the isle and one seat behind him, otherwise known as very close proximity, one could argue perhaps too close. Right away Chummy dove into a one-sided conversation about the perfect way to clean open flesh wounds, with a little bit of future plans on how Chummy might obtain some money. The bus driver responded accordingly as Davey and I sat in fear. Yet, we were determined to get to the beach so we looked out the window and pretended everything was fine. But that perhaps wasn't the best idea as the bus driver pulled over and low and behold, another creepy man hopped aboard. Now this man sat even closer to us than Chummy- he sat right in front of us. How wonderful. This guy was clearly intoxicated, and there was a white residue covering both his left and right hands. That's not all though, turns out he and Chummy were friends. They soon struck up another uncomfortable conversation together. Davey being more paranoid than I about situations such as these, was not having it. She looked out the window and put on headphones with no music playing just to make herself blend in and look casual. However, I wasn't as lucky as Davey for I was sitting in the isle, kitty corner to Chummy and directly behind residue hands. The terror we felt was growing, but I paid for this bus ride and money was not something I could afford to waste especially because of a bunch of uncivilized men. Notice how no women made unnecessary comments or made me feel uncomfortable that day… just a simple observation. Anyhow, it wasn't until Chummy turned to face me, and asked, “Want to see my open flesh wounds?” Without waiting for a response, and then proceeding to in fact show me his disgusting flesh wounds that I cracked. Davey turned her head, but I wasn't so lucky. I got the absolute joy of seeing this man's nasty drug abuse wounds. So fun. I quickly pulled the bus stopper and we stepped past the two lovely men and exited through the only door on the bus in the middle of country roads at a sketchy bus stop. After regaining our sanity, we still refused to let men ruin our day, so we started on our confusing post-traumatic hour and a half walking journey in the hot sun to the beach. To make a long story short, it wasn't worth it.

They often say pets are people's best friends. My Fat-Man is no exception. Fat-man is a reasonably large black and white cat. He was born around 2010. His mother was an indoor/outdoor cat. However, she had her babies inside. She would next proceed to resolutely take the innocent babies outside under the trailer. When we went out and retrieved them, she transported them right back out. We naturally worried about the kittens, but they were always fine. We intended on getting rid of all the cats but, I talked my mom into fixing and keeping Fat-man and he remained an indoor/outdoor cat. He came and went as he pleased. I perceive him as one of the most beautiful cats I've ever seen. His glossy fur is long and silky. However, if you pet him, you'll likely end up covered in his fur. His head is primarily black, except a bit of white on his chin. The white on his chin goes down into his chest area but stops halfway. The rest of him is black, minus his paws. Even though his paws are white, they're always clean. Much like a proper man wearing white gloves. He is constantly cleaning himself. Whenever you try to manage the burs in his fur, he'll get agitated and growl at you. He has never hissed. My mom repeatedly said he was more like a dog. He growled, played fetch, and drank plentifully out of the toilet. My Fat-Man is also incredibly intelligent. When we moved houses, we didn't want to allow him outside because my mom and I were genuinely worried he'd get bewildered in the unfamiliar environment and not come back. But he is wild at heart and desired to be outside. He snuck past us and zoomed into the vast trailer park. We were frightened he was gone for good. However, one typical day my mom and I were sitting passively on the couch. We were talking but got interrupted by something hitting the window causing a visible shadow to envelop the room. The shadow was accompanied by bu a ´thud´ and then a noise that sounded like velcro being taken apart. My mom and I were confused, and honestly a bit scared. We went outside seeing what the noise was. Sure enough, there sat my lovely cat. He had jumped up on the window to capture our attention and then dragged his claws down the window screen. This continued for a considerable while until the mesh screen was completely destroyed. People who own pets for a while start to pick up on their pets little quirks. Fat-Man had many quirks. You could sit peacefully in the yard and play fetch with him. You could toss a bouncy ball or a milk ring and he would typically return it back. I've also noticed that in the sunlight, you can undoubtedly see brown in his fur. In the Summer his coat gets thinner and, in the Winter it gets thicker. I've always preferred his winter coat. He voluntarily allows you to cradle him like a baby. After all, he is my baby boy. Whenever you don't allow him outside, he'll get frustrated and hell huff like a child does when they don't receive the toy they've asked for. He'll stretch up towards the doorknob as f he's trying to open it. Although he appreciates people, he does not exactly get along with other cats. When he came inside to eat, the other cats would hiss and growl at him. Ultimately, we had to start stowing him in my room. He loved laying near me. Notwithstanding when it was extremely humid in my room. He would knead my arm, trying to get comfortable. However, he tended to use his claws, so it felt more like pins and needles. Once he got relaxed, though, it was impossible to shift him. He was dead weight. And believe me, he isn't exactly light. His name is a bit misleading. He isn't fat. When he was a kitten, he was extremely fluffy making him look fat. In fact, he is very muscular. I have so many stories of this amazing cat, and they probably wouldn't be able to be confined to 5,000 words, so I'll just tell my favorites to close. In one case, we had to have our house flea bombed, and we had to transport the cats somewhere else for a bit. I buckled that poor cat into the seatbelt with me instead of putting him in a crate like the other cats. Another time, we had just gotten home, and I went into the kitchen. Something almost flew into my head. There was undoubtedly a live bird in our house. Fat-Man dragged this innocent bird into our house through a hole we had behind the washer. My mom eventually threw a towel over the bird's head and flung it outside. The last story is about the time Fat-Man got injured. He had come home limping. Naturally concerned, we hauled him to a veterinarian. Fat-Mans leg was fractured clean. He had to stay inside for a bit which he didn't like at all. He was so exhilarated to finally get back out there. My Fat-Man is such an extraordinary cat. He's capable, quirky, radiant, easy-going, and honestly one of the best cats I've ever had. And believe me, I've had 16 cats. Fat-Man is sincerely my most beloved friend. I know he's just a cat, but he's consistently been there to console me. I cherish him. My cat. My Fat-Man.