Another memory floats to the surface:
I couldn't have been much older than 14 or 15. My brother had a friend named Lawrence (he never went by "Larry", it was always Lawrence). He had a dog named Queenie and I guess she tagged along everywhere he went.
On this occasion we were all riding our bikes on the "old highway" in front of my house. Just peddling back and forth, not really going anywhere. Queenie was right there, trying to keep up with us.
A car came toward us...a big car, like a Lincoln or a Cadillac. It was moving slowly, probably no faster than 20 MPH. Lawrence, Charles (my brother) and I pulled to the side of the road. But I don't guess Queenie pulled far enough, because the car ran over her. The driver, some really old woman who probably shouldn't have been allowed to drive a car at all, never swerved from the straight line she was driving. Apparently she never even saw the dog. She certainly didn't turn back to say "I'm sorry" or whatever.
What I'll never forget is how Lawrence reacted, with screams and shouts of "Queenie! Queenie!" He ran to the dead dog's side, bent over her, and wailed.
That's a normal reaction, I know. I'm not trying to make it out to be something it wasn't. But I remember it like it was yesterday and something about the event really touched a nerve within me.
Not too much longer Lawrence got mad at me for some reason and started yelling obscenities as I stood behind the back door of my house. He was really loud, and using language that, though common amongst the youngsters these days, was not acceptable at the time. Even if it were, I got mad because there was a little old lady who lived next door and I couldn't bear the thought of her hearing those words.
Before too long I'd had enough. I busted out of that door like a bull in a rodeo and proceeded to beat that little bastard to a pulp. I have never been a violent man. I wasn't before, and I haven't been since. But that day I was one mean motherfucker and I made damn sure that Mrs. Huggins would never hear that vile talk from Lawrence ever again.
And I think that's why the Queenie incident seems to hold so much significance. I had so much sympathy for this kid when he lost his dog. He wasn't a bad friend. But then, not too much later, here I am wailing on him. And I never saw him again afterwards.
Stay tuned, as more memories float to the surface.
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