Oscar Sagastume, A Best Friend

Oscar Sagastume, a maestro at anything and everything he puts his hands to, a King Midas of sorts, has helped me begin this blog tonight.  He called from Honduras at exactly the perfect moment:  He got to hear me cry my unhappiness to him, got to hear of all my present woes.  My tears couldn’t have dried more quickly with those silica packets you find in the pocket of a new coat.  He had them gone in no time, the same way he used to get rid of them when he lived here in the United States and I used to pick him up on Pine Cone in my Mustang so we could go eat at Moe’s.  The good old days.

A couple of days after he left for Honduras the big old oak tree at the corner of Pine Cone Street was chopped down.  It took a long time; it was very big.  I always liked that tree and I could’ve gone up to the men and told them I hated to see it go, that it reminded me of my best friend, Oscar, but then I thought again for a moment longer and decided it was perfectly fitting, the loss of that beloved tree.  Oscar was gone.  Let them take the tree, too.  There will never be another like Oscar to get me through my life so happily as he did and there will never be another tree like that oak that grew on Oscar’s street.

Never.

 

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