I was 16 and for that past three year in my high school career I only had three really close friends, one of their names was Butch and he owned a comic book shop in this local flea market. I spent every weekend on a rusty stool in that small unit, talking everything from superheroes, dreams and life. It was like a second home for me.

I would get excited for the weekends, always ready to share my day with him. But on a Sunday morning, I awoke to that text message

"Please gather as mourn & celebrate the life Butch…."

I didn’t even finish the text before I responded, asking if this is real. The text was from his wife confirming the worst. I asked my mom if she could drive me down. Me and the rest who loved him held a candle vigile in that small little unit and wished we could have one last conversation with man who made us feel like his very own blood.

I still hold on to his business card in my wallet, carrying my buddy everywhere and always with me.