My first friend was Slobo. I was still living in Yugoslavia at the time, and not far frommy house there was an old German truck left abandoned after the war. It had no wheels. Nowindshield. No doors. But the steering wheel was intact. Slobo.and I flew to America in thattruck. It was our airplane. Even now, I remember the background moving as we took offdown the street, across Europe, across the Atlantic. We were inseparable. The best of friends.Naturally, not one word concerning the nature of our feelings for one another was ever ex-changed. It was all done in actions.
The inevitable would happen at least once a day. As we were flying over the Atlantic,there came, out of nowhere, that wonderful moment: engine failure！ "Well have to bailout," I shouted. "A-a-a-a-a！" Slobo made the sound of the failing engine. Then he would turnand look me in the eye: "I cant swim," hed say. "Fear not. " I put my hand on his shoulder."I11 drag you to shore." And, with that, both of us would tumble out of the truck onto thedusty street. I swam through the dust. Slobo drowned in the dust, coughing, gagging."Sharks！" he cried. But I always saved him. The next day the ritual would be repeated, onlythen it would be my turn to say "I cant swim," and Slobo would save me. We saved each oth-er from certain death over a hundred times, until finally a day came when I really left forAmerica with my mother and sister. Slobo and I stood at the train station. We wcre there to saygoodbye, but, since we werent that good at saying things and since he couldnt save me, hejust cried until the train started to move.
The best friend I had in high school was Louie. It now seems to mc that I was totally mo-nogamous when it came to male friends. I would have several girl friends but only one realmale friend. Louie was it at that time. We were both athletes, and one day we decided to "runtill we drop." We just wanted to know what it was like. Skinny Louie set the pace as we ranaround our high-school track. Lap after lap. Four laps to a mile. Mile after mile we ran. I hadthe reputation as being a big-time jock. Louie didnt. But this was Louies day. There was abounce in his step and, when he turned back to look at me, his eyes were gleaming with thethrill of it all. I finally dropped. Louie still looked fresh; he seemed capable, on that day, ofrunning forever. But we were the best of friends, and so he stopped. "Thats it," he lied, "Icouldnt go another step farther. " It was an act of love. Naturally, I said nothing.