Cody Hayes. That name belongs to my best friend and brother. We were just two kids in sixth grade, no one liked us, and we kept to ourselves. We had math class with Mr. Hart together. Another kid, named Steven, was also in our class. He introduced us and we clicked instantly. We both had many common passions, we learned. One in particular was writing. We shared a green, 70 page, college ruled notebook, in which we would write a story. We wanted to get it published. That never worked out, because one day, during our math AIMS (Arizona's Instrument to Measure Standards) test, I passed the notebook to Cody after finishing my test. Mr. Hart caught me passing the notebook to Cody. He took it and gave us both a detention, which we served happily while joking about what he would do with our story. I would return to the school with a new notebook at lunchtime each day, which Mrs. Weitzel, the English teacher, took from me, for unknown reasons. I started going to Cody's house, where I met his father, named Scott (a larger man who was intimidating at first, but turned out to be one of the greatest men I would ever meet), his mother, named Shanna, his grandmother, named Sandra, and his grandfather, named Raymond. I became almost a second son to them, as I was there so much, either relaxing for hours in his hot tub, or playing Halo while drinking red Gatorade. The days passed, and during winter break of sixth grade, I moved to Tempe, 30 miles away. I went to two different schools after I moved, neither holding as good a friend as Cody, whom I was slowly drifting away from. On the third of February, 12:34 AM, I learned my grandfather had died. That kicked me into a depressive state, as I was so close to him. I got into stealing and vandalism about a year after that, in winter of eighth grade. I found myself almost arrested three times. I managed to get out of there, hoping against hope I would be forgotten. Soon, in November of 2006, mom had a bad hospitalization, giving her 12 hours to live. She took more than that, thank goodness. But who would have been the first to think of taking me in, had mom only taken the 12? Cody’s family would have, hands down and no questions asked. After that, mom's relationship with her husband turned abusive. He began using her for sex and taking my possessions away, not letting me leave the house, not letting me use the phone, et cetera. I had so many dreams of walking away and venturing the thirty miles to Cody's house. It would have been worth it, I had thought. Since I could not do that, I resorted to attempting suicide. I tried chemical inhalation, smothering, cutting, suffocating, and inhalants. Who helped me get through that hard time? Cody. He did not know I was contemplating, but he helped me in a way only a brother could. I returned to the school I met Cody at on April 19th, 2007. Back to the bottom of the social ladder I went, but I had Cody, just like last time. We grew back into our old friendship, this time playing Halo 2 and 3 or Army of Two while drinking that same red Gatorade. We catch up on old times, make fun of old schoolmates, and insult modern society. I think there was a reason Steven introduced us. Maybe there isn't. All I know is that Cody and I are brothers. We always will be, and that's all that matters.
Closer Than a Best Friend
March 25, 2008