chapter 10



(by Harry Nilsson)


People, let me tell you ’bout my best friend
He’s a warm-hearted person who’ll love me till the end
People, let me tell you ‘bout my best friend
He’s a one boy cuddly toy, my up, my down, my pride and joy

People, let me tell you ’bout him he’s so much fun
Whether we’re talkin’ man to man or whether we’re talking son to son
‘Cause he’s my best friend
Yes, he’s my best friend in life
Di da, di da da da!


My best friends in life have always been and will always be my Little Bro and my three little sisters but they were born to the job. However, in first grade, I acquired another best friend and brother, Curtis. I don’t remember the exact time or date, but one day I looked up and he was just there, claiming me as his brother. I guess you could say he adopted me. He even claimed my grandmother—who taught at the same school—as his own “Granny”. Whenever we ran into her on-campus, he’d break into a sprint, often outracing me to get to her. Then he’d throw his arms about her waist and greet her with shrieks of “Hey Granny!” and “I love you Granny!” His enthusiasm always made “Granny” smile her sparkling, gold-toothed smile. “Hello baby”, she’d reply.


My friendship with Curtis spanned a lifetime—his—for he was murdered at the tender age of 29, but I’ll expound on that another day. There were plenty of good times between first-grade and that awful day.


For now however, it is interesting enough to note that a group of crows is called a murder. Legend has it that when one crow dies, the murder will surround the deceased and peck at it. This “funeral” isn’t just to mourn the dead, though. The crows gather together to find out what killed their member.


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