The story so far:
viii – three sons
When Kirt’s first son Alex was born we were in California trying out for a Golden League Baseball team called the Japan Samurai Bears. One day we were sitting at the Post Bar in Detroit, watching a Tigers spring training game…and the next we were on a plane to Cali. Naturally the competition was to see who could make the team. Neither of us did, but I got a call back and Kirt didn’t.
Kirts wife Madison was unhappy about the whole situation but insisted at the time that she understood the bond we shared. She never wanted to come between childhood friends. She accepted his absence.
What she couldn’t accept was the fact that he never even called to see how she or the baby were doing.
After I got my call back Kirt disappeared into the city. The next time I saw him was three days later as I was boarding the plane to return to Detroit. He just strolled up, all smiles as if nothing had ever happened. Neither of us mentioned it. But we both knew who got the point for the win.
Maybe that was my first mistake. If I had just talked to him then…tried to make him understand how important life was, that he should be home with his wife and new son…not there with me on an airplane, still acting like the kids we were years ago. If I could have somehow made him realize that the games we played were no longer constructive or healthy…
Problem was, I wasn’t ready to stop either. Especially since I was on a winning streak.When Kirt’s second son Mal was born we were in Daytona Beach for bike week.
We rode all the way down from Detroit with a group of aging bikers who called themselves the ‘Weather Beaters.’ They traveled across the entire country on their hogs, through rain, snow, sleet…etc.
When we finally arrived in Daytona the first contest was on…who could score with the most chicks.Things turned ugly early when I was doing a tall brunette in the bathroom of this bar and her biker hubby stormed in. The fight left me with a broken hand and a few nights in jail, which gave Kirt the time he needed to pass me up and win.
Madison wouldn’t speak to us for months after. There had been complications with the delivery and she had almost died.
“If only you had been there…” She insisted.
Then what? Somehow it wouldn’t have happened?
Mal was born by caesarian. Madison calls her scar Kirt.
She calls Kirt her scar.
When his third son, little Jesse was born, Kirt was in Jamaica in search of some smoke that would be better than the stuff I got in San Francisco the week before. He never found any.
I stayed with Madison through the delivery and still to this day consider little Jesse as much my son as he was Kirts. Especially since he looked suspiciously like me. But who can really tell with mixed blood. Black and white creates the most beautiful honey shade of brown.Around the time little Jesse turned two, Madison decided to leave Kirt. She considered taking up with me and for a while I considered having her.
But then we both re-considered and she took him back.
I do love her, I believe as much as Kirt does…however in the end I decided our friendship wasn’t worth losing over her. Besides, I think she knew on some level that being with me would not be much different than being with him.
I have to admit though…I often wonder how it could have been. To have a loving wife. To have wonderful children. To stop the senseless games with Kirt and to finally lead a normal, productive life.
I might even have stopped little Jesse from falling into that pool and drowning.
Kirt and I both missed the funeral. We were in Spain running with the bulls.Madison says that we were meant to be together.
Kirt took this as some sort of crude homosexual reference, but I understood. And on some level I agree.Til’ death do us part.