When I was a boy

When I was young, in those final years leading up to teenhood, living in a small village on the coastal desert of Northern Peru, my mother arranged that I become an altar boy. I did not object to this assignment, except possibly a few times when I was unable to accept an invitation to spend a weekend at Punta Sal, a beautiful deserted beach three or four hours drive away where a few people had constructed primitive cabañas in which to spend the night. I enjoyed being an altar boy. I found it interesting to learn Latin, ring the bell and learn what secrets lurked behind the altar. There were a couple of American priests in service there. One was very serious with dark hair and dark penetrating eyes. He would always quiz the altar boys about his homily to make sure we were paying attention. The other priest was quiet and seemed a bit lost. Both were probably in their late twenties, but to me they came from a different dimension – they were adults.

And that is how I met Carlos Parrales. We served mass together and became fast friends, although our circumstances were very different. I was a gringo living up on the hill where the rich people were. He was from a poor family, but there was a gap just as great between him and me as there was between him and the really poor. For our small village, he might have been considered middle class. We paid little attention to those things, but when we were driven to the nearby town of Talara to see a movie and eat ice cream, I think he got it into his mind that he would become a successful man when he became an adult.

He invited me to his house to celebrate my eleventh birthday, along with many of his friends. (My “rich” friends did not attend.) His mother asked me how the Americans celebrate birthdays and for some reason I mentioned bobbing for apples. And soon enough, there appeared a bucket full of water and a few apples, and a line of children hoping to snag a fruit using only their mouth. The water spilled out onto the waxed wooden floor and everyone was slipping and sliding the rest of the afternoon. That day, I met and fell in love with Esmeralda, a friend of Carlos. To this day I remember a song from those days, with the refrain: “Esmeralda, Esmeralda, solo sabe bailar cha cha cha!”

We were such good friends, we took an oath. We swore to be friends “hasta la muerte”.

Thirty or forty years later, I got a call from my sister Jonee who lives in Bali. Somehow, she had received a letter from Carlos. In the letter, which she forwarded to me, Carlos explained that he had retired from his work at the Banco de Peru and was in Long Beach, California searching for me. I had told him stories about my visits to Long Beach where my grandparents lived and he knew that was where I moved to when I left Peru. We had corresponded for a few months or a year while I was in Long Beach, always signing our letters “Amigos hasta la Muerte!” But over time, we lost contact.

When I received the letter, I found he had included the phone number of his sister, who lived near Long Beach. I believe I was living in Bangkok at the time, and I gave his sister a call.

“I am sorry you have missed him,” she told me when we connected and I explained who I was. “He had a heart attack last week and he is dead.”

I was devastated. I am devastated now as I think about it. He was my best childhood friend. A friend from the other side of the great child/adult divide. Days of happiness in a world of innocence.

Recently I attended the funeral of a man I worked with. He was one of the good guys, dependable and honest, and very good at what he did. About a year ago, I heard that he was living nearby the wranch and I thought it would be great to visit with him and his wife as soon as I finished building the house. At the service, his wife told me he had been sick for about ten years and although bed-ridden would have enjoyed visiting with me.

We are all amigos hasta la muerte. The fateful day sneaks up on us. Let’s get together before then and share some memories, break some bread and raise a toast. To Carlos. And to Esmeralda.