Marc and I grew up on the same street – about 8 or 10 houses apart. He had three younger brothers: Bernard, John and Andrew. He was a kind and quiet kid, slow to initiate conversation but chatty once engaged. Always studious, intellectual, warm and open. I remember one summer when we were about 12 or 13 we found some tennis racquets in our garages and went out to play at Savannah – the local high school. It was a fun way to pass the time so the next day we played again. And the next day. We played tennis every day for 9 weeks, until school started in September. Sometimes we would end the day in one of those dizzy fits of giddy exhaustion where everything we said or saw was hilarious and we were choking with laughter.
In 1976 I was travelling via bicycle/hitchhiking to the Montreal Olympics with my friend Sid Burton (our class, freshman year only) and I knew Marc was attending Queen’s University in Kingston, Ontario. So we hitched to his apartment (unannounced, of course), I introduce him to Sid, Marc insisted we stay to the weekend. After we left Sid observed “So Marc carries his share of the pain of genius and insight, doesn’t he?” On the way back we stopped in again. It turned out that Marc and friends were renting a van and driving down to Jersey City to a Dead concert, so Sid and I went along and made our border crossing with them. After the show they dropped us off in Syracuse so we could hitchhike home. That was the last time I saw old Marcky boy.
Of my friends, his was the first passing to really hit home, a palpable loss that would stay with me. But it is this sort of profound absence that makes the presence of the rest of our friends and loved ones all the sweeter, isn’t it?
- Bill Forbes
No comments:
Post a Comment