Augustino

My best friend is a 70 year old Greek man named Augustino.

Unfortunately, Augustino doesn't know that yet.  He thinks his casual waves to me as he walks up the steps to his house are just that — casual waves between two neighbors.  But it's slim pickings in South Bend and a best friend is hard to come by.  The runner-up was the crazy-eyed bagger guy at Krogers, but I can't tell if he wants to be friends or if he wants to eat me.  Plus, I'm pretty sure there's a bird living in his beard and I've always said that personal hygiene is very important when it comes to picking friends.  You know what else is?  Not being a cannibal.  Big no-no.

Rilla came home from her first day of pre-school and announced that she had a new best friend.  She still had her best friend in Kentucky, but now she also had a best friend in the state that keeps Kentucky from falling into Tennessee.  "My best friend is named Olivia and she has an elephant," Rilla emphatically declared and I immediately was jealous.  Yes of the elephant (which disappointingly turned out to be just a stuffed animal, ruining quite a few hopes and dreams) but also at how easily Rilla was able to make a new friend.  And not just a friend, but a best friend.  The next day when I walked Rilla into her classroom she looked around the room, scanning the faces for familiarity, when a little head popped up from behind a shelf.  "Rilla!"  "Olivia!"  The two girls ran towards eachother, hugged, and then — like little girls do — jumped up and down giggling.  Other than the last part, it was a pretty spot-on impression of the ending of every Kate Hudson movie ever made.  

I want that.  Well...not that.  Not the hugging and the jumping up and down and the giggling.  I want the thirty year old male equivalent.  I want someone to share a beer with.  To watch a game with.  To talk politics with.  To throw a baseball with.  To make fun of and to cringe at when they make fun of me.  

I don't know what I expected when we moved.  Maybe some part of me actually thought there would be neighbors lined up outside our front door with fresh baked goods just itchin' to introduce themselves.  While we were unpacking our moving van a 30 year old man would knock on the front door and ask me:  "Do you want to play catch?"  I'd look at the pretty, brown-haired girl with dimples with puppy dog eyes until she finally caved — "Oh, alright.  But be back by dusk you hear?" — and then I'd run and grab my mitt and Reds hat and tear through the front yard.  "I'm Rob."  "I'm Gary."  Hours later I'd return and emphatically declare that I had a new best friend.  Maybe he'd even have an elephant.

I'm from a small town.  The kind of place where the kids you go to pre-school with are the same you graduate with 15 years later.  You don't have to make new friends when you grow up in a town like that, friends are just kind of made for you and you never have to introduce yourself because everyone already knows you.  I never moved.  I never had new neighbors.  It wasn't until I left for college that I first had to make new friends and, well, it was a lonely freshman year.  I spent the vast majority of my time in my dorm room on the seventh floor of Poland Hall counting down the days until I could go home.  (And also trying to ignore the ungodly loud Madonna songs being pumped out of the stereo of the room next to mine.)  I swore that this time would be different.  This time I would make new friends — but don't worry, I'd keep the old.  One could be silver and the other could be gold!  But here I am.  Two months in and I've got bupkiss.

That's where Augustino comes in.  Sure, he's not perfect.  He's twice my age and his English isn't that great. But we both like feta cheese and I have an impressive knowledge of the inhabitants of Mt. Olympus.  

Now to tell Augustino the good news.  Sigh.

R

robcarpenter11@gmail.com