Eighteen years ago my life changed.
My friend John loved games, comic books, and anything dealing with the genre of cyberpunk. He was a Robocop fanatic. He was devoted to the gospel of the Holy Trilogy and the teachings of the Godfather. John was a genius. He loved math, computers, and for fun enjoyed doing derivatives without a calculator. Gaming with John was always a trip and his Cyberpunk character Buck Johnson was truly a masterpiece of perverted sick humor.
John and I met at our freshman orientation for college in 1989, and immediately hit it off. We shared a passion for comic books, and debated the weighty topics of McFarlane’s depiction of Spider-man, and why I think the Legion of Superheroes is the greatest creation of all times. I joined his regular gaming group and was introduced to the numerous charts of Rolemaster, while I introduced them to the joys of Car Wars. The group was great, and it would not be until the summer of 1997 that it would disband. Sadly, John did not live to see the farewell party.
It was the first week of school and the weekend was upon us. The group was gathered, the dice ready, and John was late. Mind you, John was prompt to a fault and you could always count on him showing up a half-hour early. As we sat around the table in the University of Wisconsin—Milwaukee Student Union we joked that finally we could tease John for being late. A half-hour went by and there was still no sign of John, and as was the rule, if you are not there we play without you. It would not be until later that night I would learn the news.
John was at a red light waiting patiently for it to turn green. John was patient. Hell the guy would wait in line without any complaint, and he could fish for hours without moving a muscle. John was probably listening to talk radio and debating with the conservative host. John was a liberal, and like everything else with our relationship, we debated politics all the time since I was his polar opposite. He never saw the car coming that hit him head on, killing him instantly.
It was on September 6, 1991 at 6:30 PM that my best friend John lost his life. It is a Friday that still, after all these years, is vivid in my mind. Even now as I write this, I have tears in my eyes thinking about the life of my best friend that was cut short. The driver who murdered my friend was drunk. Strike that, she was beyond drunk, she had pure grain alcohol running through her veins. She passed out at the wheel, and as luck would have it escaped with only a broken leg and a broken collar bone. John was not so lucky.
Every September 6th I think of my friend. I think of the times we shared and the debates we had. I remember going to Gen Con with him, going to comic book shows, and the endless nights of play at the game table. Still eighteen years to the day I feel a little empty inside. I would give anything to talk to him even if it were only for just five minutes. I would give anything to see the expression on his face when I tell him I am married.
I miss you John.
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