CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Things were starting to look up. Having a steady job at Coyote Creek enabled me to escape the tiny, depressing studio apartment my mother had rented for me and move into a two-bedroom apartment on Greenley Road in Sonora with my friend James. Being able to move into that two-bedroom apartment made me proud. It was an old apartment complex but nevertheless an upgrade for me. Having a roommate also meant splitting the rent and the bills, not to mention to have a friend to talk to.
James was a couple of years older than me; he worked at Walmart, stocking merchandise on the shelves with a forklift. When our schedules lined up, we would drive around looking for the BBQs and live music events described in the flyers handed to us by friends, while listening to all kinds of music on my car’s cassette player.
James was of Mexican descent and would often joke, “Oh yeah, blame it on the Mexican” when we were gathered at a bar, drinking, and sharing laughs with our friends. He enjoyed his alcohol, could consume a good amount of whiskey, and loved playing video games, especially football, on his Sega Genesis console. He was a good guy (unless you got on his bad side), easy to live with and fun to party with.
Many years later, I learned that he had passed away due to complications from diabetes and cirrhosis. How passionately he would sing “Lady” by Little River Band, “Lola” by the Kinks, “Try and Love Again” by the Eagles; how he would yell “hell yeah!” when he successfully threw a Hail Mary pass resulting in a touchdown when playing football on his Genesis video game console; how, if somebody pissed him off, he would say “let’s go out back then;” and how much he loved his little stepdaughter will always stay with me.
As the years have gone by, more and more of the people I spent time with in those early years, both in the US and back home in Turkey, have passed away. Losing so many friends and people with whom I shared powerful and important memories fills me with sorrow, and their voices still echo in my head today.
Sometime around 1988 or so, a friend a couple years older than me from our neighborhood back home, Necmi, had gone to England with high hopes but had ultimately returned to Karsiyaka. He said things didn’t work out quite the way he had planned. I remember how his older brother Sadi and I had talked about how we could help him get out of his depressed mood. I found out we lost him soon after that.
My good friend Ozan, with whom I have many memories in both Izmir and the coastal town of Dikili, a good soccer player, would lose his young life in a stabbing in Cyprus in the ’90s.
I remember my friend Yildirim from high school in Karsiyaka as a tall, courageous, and friendly guy. I heard he too got stabbed to death, in Istanbul while waiting in line to use the public phone. They said he got into an argument that led to a fight and the guy pulled out a knife.
I also found out not long ago that my good friend Collin from Sonora had died. James was our mutual friend — in fact, Collin had been the one to tell me about James’s final few years. He said James had come and lived with him for a while. This time, it would be two other friends, Jeff and Erik, who would fill me in on Collin’s last years.
Collin was one of the many people who had helped me, allowing me to live in his house when I needed somewhere to stay. I remember the sight of him sitting on a couch he had put out on his front porch, legs crossed, with a drink in his hand, usually a rum and Coke or a screwdriver, and a cigarette, usually an American Spirit, between his fingers, enjoying the blue sky as I would come driving up the hilly street where he lived in downtown Sonora.
He had become a father relatively recently when I knew him in the mid-’90s. He would throw a baseball on his front yard with his son, and I remember watching his boy slowly bringing the baseball up to his face and making it touch his eye when his dad told him to “keep his eye on the ball.” Holding a cold Budweiser in my hand, that was one of the funniest things I had ever seen.
Collin, James, and I shared many good times and laughter together. I miss them both a lot.
Another old buddy, Ralph, has also passed away. He was the guy who got me my dishwashing gig at Coyote Creek when I desperately needed a job. He had been there for me many times and gave me a great deal of important advice when I was in my twenties. Perhaps the most important thing he told me was “Life is an adventure; venture out and discover the beauty,” which I’m still trying to understand and pursue.
Ralph was an adventurous guy with a good heart, a terrific pool player, and a lover of the outdoors. He served as the guide on my first-ever river rafting experience with Sammy. I remember playing a lot of soccer and basketball with him and his kids in the mid-’90s.
Although a polite and a genuine soul, Ralph would say what was on his mind. Because he never had any ill feeling toward anyone or much to hide, he didn’t know how to be politically correct. I recall that he had some connections in Fresno due to his attendance at Fresno State University. He had a good friend whose name escapes me, who worked for the postal service and was also a very good pool player. I remember visiting the friend’s house in Fresno once with Ralph and shooting pool for a couple of hours. I will always remember our pool and basketball games, the cold beers and rum and Cokes we drank at Christmas, and the good conversations we had. My good friends in Sonora truly made me feel like their brother when I was still new to the US; they taught me quite a bit, and my life is much richer for having known them.
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