My mom told me today that Barry Wofford, one of my best friends in high school, died last Thursday. I don't know the details and it doesn't really matter. We hadn't been in touch in a long time, but Barry was the guy I hung out with more than anyone else during my junior and senior years in high school. He was a photographer and I was an artist and we just hit it off. Barry was the guy that introduced me to the music of Jimmy Buffet. He and I were both movie buffs and both big fans of the James Bond films. Somewhere I have a picture of him holding my target pellet gun across his chest in his best James Bond pose.
Barry and I spent countless hours driving around in his beat up blue Ford Maverick, talking about our big plans for the future, most of which didn't pan out. The summer before our senior year we were almost constant companions. We had something of a falling out in our early twenties, and though we eventually patched things up, we were never as tight as we had been, and as I said, I'd lost touch with him in recent years. Still, when mom told me the news it was a jolt. A quick, sharp pain in a place I'd forgotten. In some ways no matter how far we travel, we are always close to the people who stood on the brink of adulthood with us, I think.
Anyway, I just wanted to say a few words about an old friend. So long, Barry. We had some adventures, didn't we?