Cracked Head Memoirs

I met Rudy when we were 10 and the in same homeroom in 5th grade. We were also on the same midget football team. His mother and my mother and grandmother had been acquainted at the time of our births.

I saw Rudy off and on after grade school. He was in a different middle school district from me, but we played football together through the seventh grade. On occasion we might visit each other at home, but only if our mother’s were involved because he lived several miles away, too far to walk or bike.

I ran into him at a baseball game in the spring of our freshman year in high school. After that I didn’t see him until the first quarter of our junior year in high school. A mutual friend brought him over to my house after school one day. We clicked at that point and I’ve never been the same since.

To say that Rudy was wild doesn’t quite cover it. His father was an alcoholic, and quite frankly, I don’t think gave a damn what Rudy did. His mother was doting and became his chief enabler. She still is and it’s sad. Rudy could do whatever he wanted by the time we were 16, and what he wanted to do was smoke pot, drink alcohol, and screw girls. He was good at all three.

Rudy was in and out of my life, depending on whether I was living in Mobile or Memphis at the time, from 16 until I was 30. I think we have always gotten along so well because not matter what else we were doing, either together or apart, or primary goal was to always stay as intoxicated as possible. That we were of that mindset at 16 probably speaks volumes to how we felt about life, and to how unhappy we were as kids.

When I was dating Becky I didn’t see too much of Rudy, but he was always there when I couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to get loaded. Once, when I’d first started to stay sober via the church, he called me from a bar. He was desperate for someone to party with. (Or he may have just needed a ride. Who knows?) Anyway, when I told him I was a Christian he rebuked me and said “God made Christians and God made alcoholics, and for you to be trying to be a Christian, you’re letting God down”. He’d have been a helluva car salesman.

I don’t think Rudy is a bad influence on me, although it’s been suggested by many folks over the years. I just think we like some of the same things. Our chemistry is either really bad or good, depending on your point of view.

At the time of this posting, Rudy is still alive. In fact, he called me yesterday, drunk of his ass and wanting company. (Or money?) He works as a house painter. I’d guess he’s probably averaged about 30 hours a week over the last 10 years and will admit, begrudgingly, that the only reason he’s held onto that job over the years is because he can pretty much go and come as he pleases. I can write with complete confidence that no matter how much money he brings home, it’s all gone by the time he goes to bed Saturday night or early Sunday morning. His Mom will keep him in gas, smokes, and six-packs until the next weekend when the cycle starts over. She pays his rent. I guess the empty toilet paper dispenser in his bathroom pretty well sums up Rudy’s existence.

He has three girl friends that come and go, usually at different times. You can imagine what they’re all about. I fully expect to hear that Rudy has died violently, either from some domestic incident, or a dope deal gone bad, at any time. Should he hang on, I expect his health to fail, more or less all at once, and unfortunately, at that point the world will be a slightly better place.