Requiem for a Small Pink Dude

It was a dark moment, the death of my friend, and it was a moment that I did not even see.  Oh, I was there, all right, but I had my back turned.  Cold and callous to the end, I suppose.

It began with a fall, as many fatal plunges do.  It began with a fall and ended with a splash, I suppose, although I didn't hear a thing except a murmur from the people around me.  And he doesn't even seem to care!  Bastards, couldn't they see it was tearing me up inside?

Immediately I started for the grave site, for we left his body there in the sea, left him there to spend all eternity with the fishes and the sharks and the mafia hits.  Left him there to commune with nature, no matter how un-natural he may have been in life.

I arrived at the water and peered down through the murky depths, hoping to catch a glimpse, some last farewell perhaps.  Or maybe I was hoping it wasn't all over yet, maybe I was hoping for some sign of life, some shimmer of pink coming up from the cold, dark water.  Alas, it was not to be.  Not a glimmer, not a bubble.

I quietly remembered him, remembered what he had done for me, how he'd reached deep into himself to raise me up when I wasn't doing so well.  When I was tired and cold and hungry and running a little short, how he'd raised above his humble origins to bring me a brief moment in the sun, a sweetly short visit to the pedestal (oh, and the $30 that came along with it).  

Thirty bucks?, you say?  Yeah, enough for a few burgers or a few beers, but it was good.  And what did he get for his labors?  For his pains?  For sacrificing himself against that cold steel for me?  His reward was to be defaced, to be rudely attacked, to have me say, "No, you're not good enough as you are, it's not enough that you be what you've been, I'm going to make it clear that people know what you've done for me."  And in that one moment I betrayed him, I made it clear that I cared more for what he'd done for me than for who he was.  In that moment I sold myself out.

So I gave up my hopes, looked away from his watery grave, resigned myself to life without him.  To never letting him know what he meant to me.  I hope, in that moment of pain and sorrow, that I grew just a little bit.  That I'll treat my friends better in the future.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my mini, dropped it on the grass, and threw my upshot.  Straight into a tree.  What kind of MRX goes into the lake on hole 1 anyway?  Sheesh. Good riddance, dummy.

Doug's thoughts on nothing in particular