My Best Friend Wants to Die

My best friend wants to die. It is very important as I tell you my story that you know two things: the first is the story is absolutely true and the second is I have no idea what to do. I guess it’s also important you know there are so many things that could have happened differently and if they had I would not be able to tell this story.

Young men, oftentimes, make big decisions for insignificant reasons. One such instance happened when I decided to join the military in 1988. I joined the Army but I could just have easily joined the Marines. I probably joined the army for no better reason than A came before M in the phone book. If M came before A I would not have this story to tell. 

Although I committed to the Army in September of 1988, I actually joined under a plan called the delayed entry program which pushed my actual enlistment date to the end of February, 1989. If I had not used the delayed entry option everything would have been different and I would not have this story to tell.  

Basic training sucks. You are called awful things. You are forced to do awful things and you have no control over your life. Infantry soldiers get this abuse for fourteen weeks. If you are a cook, or x-ray tech, or any other job the army offers you spend eight weeks in basic training then you get two weeks leave and you head to AIT, Advanced Individual Training. Not infantry soldiers, we get a three day pass after eight weeks then go back to the same degrading routine. I tell you this not for sympathy but because it is critical that you understand how this affects a infantry recruit’s decision making process. We crave free time: it is like air to a drowning man: it’s everything.

During infantry basic training there are a few times you are allowed to feel normal. These times come in the form of passes. Most are only for a few hours and confine you to post. While on these breaks you invariably run into other soldiers in the midst of basic training and to a man you all ask the exact same thing.  

“What week are you in?”

This question is critical because if they are in a later week they can tell your future. You pick their brains for every detail of what is to come and, if the reverse is true, they grill you.  

Unlike most basic training classes I had an extra opportunity for freedom and it was the best kind of freedom, off-base freedom. The local minor league baseball team, The Columbus Mudcats, had a military appreciation night and all uniformed soldiers were to be admitted free. Someone way above my pay grade decided all of the soldiers in basic training would be offered the chance to go to the game, unsupervised. Almost everyone did; I did. If the club hadn’t offered, if the Army hadn't allowed, or if I had rejected the offer I would not have this story to tell.  

I don’t remember much about the game. I don’t know what the stadium looked like or who won. None of that information was important enough to commit to memory. What I do remember was an incident that happened in the concession line. Because of the large number of soldiers present, the lines for refreshments were impossibly long. I didn’t care, I wanted a hot dog and a coke and in reality I couldn’t have cared less about the actual game so I took my place in line and waited my turn. Shortly after I entered the line a soldier came up and stood behind me. He had the Arctic Star, a black six point, on his shoulder signifying he was 6th Infantry, bound for Alaska. I had the same patch on my shoulder and the same ultimate destination. Neither of us knew which of the three Alaska forts would become our Army home but we both knew, regardless of which one, it would be frigid. We didn’t need an excuse to start up a conversation but the commonality made sure we did. 

He was four weeks behind me so the conversation consisted of him asking questions about what to expect and me doing my best to give him the glimpse he so desperately desired. Our talk lasted until I reached the front of the line and with my hot dog and coke in hand I wished him well and said maybe we’ll see each other in Alaska and with that I went back to my seat. If I had not wanted a hot dog, if I had gone to a different concession stand, if I had gone during a different inning I would not have this story to tell.

The real Army is only a little like basic training. You are not degraded, you are trained and you do your job. Every day just before you are released you have a squad or platoon meeting to go over the next day's plans and then you are released for the evening.  

Four weeks after I got to Alaska a new set of recruits joined my outfit. Two of those recruits were assigned to my platoon and joined us at our nightly meeting. One of these new recruits, who looked vaguely familiar, kept looking at me to the point it became uncomfortable. I’m as open minded as the next guy but I don’t like to be ogled by other men and he seemed to be doing just that. 

When the meeting was finally over and we were released to go home he walked over to me and said “You look just like...” He didn’t have time to finish his statement when I shouted, “You were the guy!” He was the soldier behind me at the ball game and not only did he end up at the same base and in the same battalion, he was in my company, my platoon, and my squad. On top of that, less than a week later we were assigned as roommates and became instant and lifelong friends.

The Army is a unique way to live your life especially when it comes to making friends. To say you put your life in each other's hands is not an exaggeration. This was especially true for Jason and I. I carried an M60 machine gun and he was my assistant gunner. The machine gun is a crew served weapon and the crew is supposed to include an ammo bearer. We didn’t have one, we split the ammo between us and prided ourselves in our ability to take the extra weight. Jason really got the worst of it though, I am stocky and built to carry a load. Jason was tall and thin but he took his fair share and at times more.  

In 1991 I was selected to represent my unit in the soldier of the month competition and Jason wasn’t going to allow me to lose. He spent every day quizzing me on the questions the military board might ask. By the time the competitions started he had me answering Jeopardy style, he would give the answer and I had to tell him the question. Well it worked, I won every level from company soldier of the month up to The United States Army Pacific Command Soldier of the year. The funny thing was I never had to tell anyone about what I had done because Jason always beat me to it. He didn’t have a hint of jealousy and reveled in my accomplishments more than I did. He taught me what a friend was, a lesson that still sticks with me to this day.  

I was the best man at his wedding and am the Godfather to his oldest son and we were each other's sympathetic ear. He and I came up with a phrase that we would do as a call and response whenever anything at work or in life was beating us down. One of us would say, “It’s only time.” and the other would immediately respond, “And time passes.”

I wish I could say we kept in close contact ever since but remember, this was in the days before social media so there were long stretches where we wouldn’t talk, but each time we did it seemed, unlike our mantra, time hadn’t passed.

Now it’s 2020, we’ve been friends for 31 years. He’s been married twice, divorced once, and widowed. He lives in Washington State and I live in Virginia. There were fifteen years where we lost touch but during that time if anyone ever asked me who my best friend was, the answer would always be “This guy named Jason.” 

 We’ve both had our ups and downs but his have mostly been downs. I got out after four years. He went to Iraq. I built a life of which I’m proud. He was a sniper and good at his job. I am the one friend who never asked what it was like to kill someone but I know he has and he is not the same as he was. He has battled addiction to pills and alcohol and he blames himself for his wife’s death. I talk to him almost every day but most days he doesn’t remember our talks. I tell him he is the best man I know, because he is, and for a few minutes he seems to feel better but it doesn’t last. For the last few weeks he has been telling me he doesn’t want to be here anymore. How am I supposed to handle that? He is my best friend and he wants to die.  

So many times in my story I could have done something different. So many times fate could have stepped in and changed my path. If any of those things had happened I would not have this story to tell. I would not have this weight on my shoulders. I would not be afraid when my phone rings. My best friend wants to die and I don’t know what to do but I do know I wouldn’t change a thing because he is my best friend and that is all that matters.