Jack

I was walking down the main hall of William J. Bogan High School in Chicago. It was during class and I do not remember where I was going, but the halls were empty, except for one kid who was sitting on a ledge looking out the windows. He was leaning back against the wall and he had one leg, knee up, on the windowsill. He was a skinny kid with long blonde hair. I had seen him around, but never talked to him before. We looked at each other, I nodded, and he nodded back, then he says, "You wanna smoke a reefer?" I said, "Sure," and we cut out a side exit, walked a block around the school, and smoked a joint he had rolled.

That's how I met Jack.

We became fast friends, and a lot of who I am today is because of what I learned from him. He taught me to question everything, especially my own beliefs. He challenged me to think in new ways. He was into a new thing called Transactional Analysis, which was basically to look at the hidden meanings and motivations behind the spoken word.

We also did a lot of acid together.

I actually lived with Jack at his mother's house during my senior year of high school. This arrangement was agreed upon by all parties, especially me and my father.

Be that as it may, there is one story about my friendship with Jack that stands above all others. Jack had a female calico cat named Cal. Maybe not very original, but the name suited her. Cal was an indoor/outdoor cat, more out than in.

Jack had removed one pane of glass from the back door of his house. He placed a thick piece of cardboard over the window, hinged at the top with duct tape. This opening sat four feet off the ground and Cal had no problem going in and out. Cal was average in size, but she was the most powerful, muscled, agile, domestic animal I have ever known. Jack had a dish of kibble and water set out for her, and occasionally gave her a can of food, but Cal was basically self-sufficient.

She slept with us at night, and when not hunting, lounged around with Jack. They loved each other dearly, but Cal was our equal, without any hint of subservience or ownership. Think what you will, but we sometimes gave Cal a few crumbs of mescaline when we tripped. After the first time, Cal knew what it was, and we left it up to her, and she always looked forward to joining us. In short, Cal was our pal.

When we went out walking around the neighborhood, which Jack loved to do, Cal would accompany us. There was never a thought of a collar or leash. One early evening we decided to go up to the corner liquor store to see if we could get a run. We had to cross diagonally across a major intersection. Jack did not want to leave Cal on the corner, but I convinced him that it would be alright, and that Cal would wait for us.

When we got back, Cal was not there. We looked and called, we went up and down the fronts and backs of houses. We worked our way back to Jack's place and he went upstairs where our room was, and there was no sign of the cat. Jack climbed out onto the overhang outside one of his bedroom windows, where we liked to hang out. He called and called, to no avail.

I assured him that Cal could take care of herself, and that she would show up before we went to bed. The evening stretched on without much conversation and without a word we turned in. That night, Chicago experienced a torrential downpour. A thunder crashing, lightning flashing, backed-up sewer, street flooding, gutter gushing rainstorm worthy of Noah.

The rain had stopped by morning, and the sun was out. Jack got up and went out onto the roof and lit a cigarette, staring off into space. There was still no sign of Cal. I knew Jack was devastated, and I knew he blamed me, but not nearly as much as I blamed myself. Without a word I left the house with little to no hope of finding Cal. I couldn't bear the thought of this affecting our friendship, but how could it not?

I started walking aimlessly, asking the few people out if they'd seen a calico cat. The minutes and then the hours passed, and I was ready to call it quits. I was going down an alley, calling Cal's name in final desperation, when my brain, more than my ears, thought it heard something. I couldn't be sure, so I called again, and nothing. But now I was determined beyond hope or hopelessness.

I moved down the alley, calling and listening, but got no response. Had I been mistaken? I swung my head back and forth, and happened to glance over a fence, across a flooded backyard, and locked eyes with Cal who was sitting in the lower branches of a tree surrounded on all sides by three feet of water.

My heart skipped several beats until I believed what I was seeing. I hopped the fence, waded through the water that lapped at my crotch, gathered Cal, bedraggled but none the worse for wear, into my arms, carried her across the yard, and deposited her over the fence onto dry land. With my head and her tail held high, side by side we headed for home.

I opened the back door and called out, "Jack!" He must have sensed something in my tone of voice and called back down the stairs, "Yah!?" "I found her!" I said.

A happier reunion there could not have been. Cal strutted up the stairs as nonchalant as ever, and Jack and I clasped hands, locking palm and thumb together. We were both beaming and smiling from ear to ear, and after a few moments of looking into each other's faces, Jack simply said, "Thanks, man."