By Billy Ray Hankins
Several years ago a very close friend of mine, John, was diagnosed with cancer. He is one of those once in a lifetime friends to whom I am closer than about 95 percent of my actual blood relatives.
The phone call from John informing me of his diagnosis was, as you can imagine, not easy for either of us. Although it was a form of cancer that has a relatively high recovery rate, the news was nonetheless devastating to hear.
John moved closer to me to begin treatment, giving me the opportunity to spend much more time with him. To show my support, I accompanied him to doctor appointments, took days off work to just hang out and even shaved his head for him when his hair began to fall out.
The head-shaving was an especially dramatic event for a middle-aged guy with a head of hair like an 18-year-old Menudo singer and a mustache best described as the lip-caterpillar lovechild of Ron Swanson and Tom Selleck.
One day, John, clearly having a weak moment, gave me a gift that I’m wearing as I type this story: a 1990’s Rolex Explorer II. It was given as a loving gesture, as something to remember him by in anticipation of his inevitable demise.
Fast forward approximately a year. John completed his treatment successfully and was now—just as he is today—fully cancer-free.
With his thick head of hair growing back and the disease in his rearview mirror, we sat one night having dinner. After talking about great times and the countless funny stories that we’ve shared over the years, there was a moment of silence.
Now, I’m not a sentimental person and actually get a bit uncomfortable when other people get emotional. However, I knew this was going to happen eventually; at some point I knew there would be an expression of gratitude for the love and support that I’d shown him during what was easily the most difficult time in his life.
John looked me in the eye, pausing to make sure the right words were spoken, and said finally: “Now that I’m better, do you think I can get that watch back?”
To this day, after many years of this request having been posed by him, he gets the same response:
“Go fuck yourself. It’s a Rolex.”
