Greasy Friends

Its only when you lose something when you really begin to realize how much it meant to you.  For so long, we were all together--one collective mass, one united group.  The shades of our skins, the grooves of our texture, and even the smell of our flesh, all of it was irrelevant.  No one cared for any of those words they emphasized in kindergarten, not "special," not "unique," not even "individuality."  In essence, not a single one of us mattered.  Never once had anyone cared for one of us individually.  But when we were together, people would love us.  They sacrificed their wealth and even their health to be with us.  Naturally, we learned to consort; from germination to sublimation, we trusted no one except each other.

But now, all that was long gone.  They had left me.  They had reached for the skies and left me in the the pits.  As I rotted away, they were basking in the mysterious wonders of life outside these brown walls.  The beautiful, rhythmic sounds of snapping and cracking coming from the outside world did nothing to extinguish the burning desire I had to join my comrades.  Nevertheless, my cronies had abandoned me and I was losing hope.  I was the last fry in the brown paper bag.

I've always had a soft spot for that last fry that you find at the bottom of the bag.  Somewhere between not being a fan of eating too much unhealthy food and being habitually cheap, you'll find the reason for why I usually end up splitting my fries with my brother.  Regardless of the reason, we invariably end up going to arbitration to decide how to split them evenly.  What I mean by arbitration is that we follow Man-Code (c) Law 38, Section 2: If one dude splits the goods, the other dude gets first dibs.  In the case that neither dude is willing to assume the role of the splitter of stacks, Mom just makes the stacks and assigns them to the appropriate dude.  Now as ingenious as the legends behind Man-Code (c) are, this verdict leaves in question the fate of those elusive fries who strategically hide in between the oily walls of the paper bag and napkins laden with the messy run off of the magical sauces that beatify the burgers.  Those, my friends, are "first come, first serve."

The marathon through our pile of fries is one that is relentless in the toll it takes on  me, my taste-buds (I consider them an independent party because they often take the liberty of making their own decisions), and anyone within close proximity of me.  There are tales of vital condiments such as salt, vinegar, and the quintessential blob of ketchup being passed over in this rush--yes, even the ketchup.  But to the victor go to the spoils of the incomparable, indescribable fry that lingers in solitary confinement at the bottom of the bag.

Its funny if you think about what would happen if that fry fell on the ground as you picked up your order from the counter or as you were setting it on your table.  It probably wouldn't have been a big deal.  I wouldn't have really minded, but now that its the very last one it becomes a treasure worthy of--dare I say it--a straight to cable movie.  If someone asked me to pay for one single fry rather than the entire frypod full of them, I would probably laugh at them.  One fry? Its not worth anything.  Being a part of the larger group is what gives it value.  Without its companions, its friends, it is like a bug without a windshield.

At the time, I was just busy eating my burger and rushing to get to that last fry.  But just like my beloved last fry at the bottom of the bag, I learned that its hard to value appreciate things as they occur.  As you're caught up in the moment, there's too much happening to really understand what is really going on.  Our brains are crazy little things that process so much every millisecond but also filter out so much more.  Hopefully, your's realized that "a bug without a windshield" wasn't supposed to make any sense but that's okay because you still got the point.

Only after the fact can you really comprehend the value of what you had, even of what you still have.  After a great meal, but more importantly, after hours of hearty laughs, spilled drinks, and a ton of those jokes that are only funny when you tell them the first time like the kind "you kinda had to be there to get," after all that, I came to realize how much friends matter.  They laugh with you and they yell at you.  The win with you and they lose with you.  But most importantly, they are there for you.

Slowly but surely, all of us are moving out of the bag.  Some get to go swimming in vat of ketchup while others just get moved into new bags.  Its only a matter of time until this bag is empty but as long as we're in here, let's make the most of it.