Hold your friends close. Be honourable to them and never let petty things get in the way. Life is way too damned short.
Ebun was the oldest friend I ever had. We met when I was four and he was five. They lived on the other end of the block in Inuvik. His real name was Harold, but we just called him by his nickname.
Technically, he was my father’s first cousin, but since he and I were the same age, we grew up like cousins.
Ebun was a character from the get-go. He was happy-go-lucky, always cuttin’ up and making jokes. He was the unofficial leader of our pack of kids. Back in the day, Inuvik had a 9 o’clock curfew for children. When the curfew siren rang, we all hot-footed for home.
One time Ebun talked a few of us kids into running away from home. We met and made plans for our getaway. Ebun instructed us all to grab some food from home along with some matches as we’d be camping out. Our little gang met 15 minutes later and made our way to an abandoned cabin half a mile from town.
We got there and proceeded to eat all our food. Then we decided to burn the arctic cotton which grew abundantly around the area. We’d known from experience that if you lit one cotton, the other would catch on and the patch would go up in a spectacular burst of flames.
Little did we know that the patch had blossomed into a very large area. When we lit the fire, it immediately spread to an uncontrollable blaze. We all took off our coats and tried to beat the flames down.
Just at the apex of the fire, the 9 o’clock siren began to wail. We froze. I looked at Ebun, who looked at another kid, who looked back at me. We were in a doggone pickle and we knew it. But the thought of getting spanked for coming in late was not going to be fun. We took our chances.
With no thought of our backpacks, we turned heel and made a mad dash for home. The siren rang for exactly one minute. If we were more than two minutes late, then we’d get a lickin’ from a willow switch that we’d have to cut ourselves.
That one minute was the longest minute of my short life. I was smaller than the rest and it didn’t take them long to leave me in their dust. “Wait,” I yelled in vain. “Wait for me.”
Friendship has no loyalty if there’s a willow switch on the other end; by the time we hit the outskirts of town, they were long gone. The siren had stopped as I reached the end of the dead end road we’d walked out on and I still had a good run ahead of me.
One of my runners came off and I had to turn around and pick it up. I didn’t even put it on. I just held on and ran for my cotton-pickin’ life. I came down the home stretch just as my mom came out the door to holler for me. I put my head down and pumped my little legs as fast as they could go.
I ran right past my mom and into the living room, stopping in front of the clock on the wall. Six seconds to spare! I collapsed on the floor and stayed there till I felt someone carrying me to my bed. I’d fainted.
The next day at school, Ebun leaned over and asked me, “Did you make it?” I nodded. “Good,” he replied.
As we got older, we played hockey together, becoming a line to be reckoned with, because of Ebun’s wicked slapshot and my ability to skate between my opponents’ legs due to my size. We won every championship from Tom Thumbs on up to the Peewee league and were inseparable on and off the ice.
One thing about growing up in the North: you don’t get out without any scars. Both Ebun and I had our share. The only way we knew to escape the ever-growing anxiety of the alcoholism and dysfunction around us, was to join in the revelry.
We soon became known as the “party boys” for our ability to throw the best parties. My parents were travelling a lot, which left us younger kids alone a lot. I would bribe my younger sister to go to her friends, then I’d open the doors to party central. We lived fast and hard.
By the time Ebun and I were in our late teens, the alcohol began to show its negative effects on us. We both racked up a slew of alcohol–related charges including, but not limited to, minor consuming, open liquor, and public intoxication raps. We wore those charges like a badge and our friends didn’t help by egging us on as we chugged beers at the next party.
I can’t tell Ebun’s story, only mine, but Ebun was right beside me the whole trip. I had to stop, cause I began to rack up impaired driving charges that would affect my job as a heavy equipment operator.
Both Ebun and I were on and off the wagon for years. I finally nailed the coffin shut after a serious health scare. Like I said, I can’t tell Ebun’s story but he struggled with it right up to the end.
Ebun was a family man. He loved his family with the ferocity of a grizzly bear. He was a natural athlete, going on to become one of the best hockey players in the Native Hockey Tournaments. He was catcher for some of the greatest pitchers in the fastball leagues across the North. His comedic flair was legendary around the North. Everyone he met was an instant friend.
When Ebun left this world, he left a void that I don’t think anyone can ever fill. He was my oldest, dearest friend. I had the honour of singing at his celebration of life and later took to the microphone to recall some of the great shenanigans he and I got into.
When we took his ashes to the cemetery to spread them on his parents’ grave, his kids placed a small cross between Ebun’s parents. Up to that point, I was able to contain my grief. But when I knelt beside his cross to say my final goodbye, I bawled like a baby. He was my oldest, most treasured friend and when he died, a part of me died too.
Hold your friends close. Be honourable to them and never let petty things get in the way. Life is way too damned short.
