Writer’s Shop Talk: My Second Most Favorite ‘Best Friends Forever’ Scene

Writer’s Shop Talk: Mark and Jim – An Enduring Friendship

It’s a beautiful but cold autumn day here in what, for now, is my corner of Madison, New Hampshire. Currently, the temperature is 49°F (9°C) under mostly sunny skies. Today’s forecast calls for more of the same, with the mercury only inching up to 51°F (10°C).

Well, dear friends, my adventure in Madison is winding down, and Miami beckons me in just a few days. As I prepare for this next chapter with muted excitement, I’ve put my novel Reunion: Coda on hold for now.

It’s quite disheartening to hit pause on my manuscript. I’d dreamt of dazzling you all come the 2024 holiday season with my first novel. But with my Miami pals planning an epic road trip back to South Florida, aiming for a late November release seems like wishful thinking. Finishing by December? That might be pushing it.

For this final Writer’s Shop Talk from New England, I’d like to highlight a scene featuring my protagonist Jim Garraty, and his best friend Mark. It’s one of my favorites, though my absolute favorite comes later and contains spoilers.

The Last Afterschool Walk Home

This is a story I don’t tell often; I’m a private man, and I don’t like to spill my guts about my love life, or lack thereof. I’m fine with talking in front of a crowd – whether it’s my history students at Columbia University or the folks who come to hear me read from my latest World War II book at the bookstore. But when it comes to the women who have broken my heart, or the one who never knew she had it, I keep that to myself.

The only other person – besides you, now – who knows the truth about the letter and what I did with it and why is my best friend, Mark Prieto.

Mark wasn’t there that day in June of ’83 when I met Marty for the next-to-the-last time in the chorus room at South Miami High School. I don’t know what would have happened if he had walked in on us, on me and the girl I loved more than anything but was too chicken to tell her. But I know Mark, he’s been like a brother to me since we were kids at Kinloch Park Elementary, and he would have done something. He would have tried to make me confess my feelings to her before it was too late.

But I was young and dumb, scared of my feelings, still hurting from Kathy – she had dumped me three years before, and I still hadn’t gotten over it – and I had let the whole year slip by without making a move on Marty. And then there we were, alone in the chorus room – Room 136, I still remember the number on my schedule – and we kissed. It was the first time we ever did. And I knew I had screwed up. I had set myself up for a fall. No one – not Mark, not Marty, not even God – could have saved me from the mess I had made of my own heart.

I can still see it in my mind, even after 20 years. South Miami High, that canary yellow bunker on the corner of Southwest 53rd Street and Southwest 68th Avenue. It was a short walk from the house where I lived with my mom, Sarah Garraty, ever since my dad died in the early years of America’s lost crusade in South Vietnam. I didn’t need a bike or a car to get there. It was close enough to smell the cafeteria food and hear the bell ring. “Cobra Country” was a warehouse for 2100 kids and 150 grown-ups, as one of the Cobras joked once. It was built in 1971, when the world was going crazy with wars and scandals and generational strife. It had three floors of classrooms, chemistry labs, a library, a student publications room, a Little Theater for the drama classes, an auditorium for the various choirs and modern dance groups, and walls lined with rows of lockers. It was a place full of secrets and surprises. It was where life happened, for better or worse.

Mark walked with me that day, our last day of high school. He didn’t say much. He knew I was hurting. He knew I was losing Marty, and that I was feeling downright shitty about it. She was leaving for London with her family after graduation. She would be gone for the whole summer, maybe forever. I would be gone too, heading north to Harvard, to start a new life without her. Mark knew all that, but he didn’t say anything. He just walked with me, like a true friend.

Mark and I stood in front of his house, half a block away from mine. We had walked from school in silence – for the last time, my brain kept reminding me. We had already said everything that needed to be said about “the thing with Marty” and the letter. Mark would never admit it, but he was just as sad as I was that our carefree youth had come to an end. We were known in school as the Twins from Different Families because we had been best friends since sixth grade. Now, we would probably not see each other for a long time once I left Miami for the chilly embrace of Cambridge.

As we stood on the sidewalk, just a few yards away from his front porch, Mark finally broke the silence. “Are you going to be okay, Jim?” His blue eyes, usually sparkling with wit or wisdom, were now a dimmer shade of grey-blue – a sure sign that Mark was truly worried or sad.

I sighed. “Yeah,” I said unconvincingly. “I’ll be okay, pal.”

Mark pointed in the direction of my house. “You sure you don’t want me to walk you to your front door? It’s no problem.”

“What are you now, my dad?” I replied with a half-hearted chuckle. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I live in Westchester or Sweetwater, bucko. I’ll probably go straight to my room and crash – I didn’t sleep much last night and I’ve been up since 6:30. I’m bushed.”

Mark grinned. “You sure it’s not because you’re afraid of running into that crazy cat lady next door?”

I rolled my eyes. “Very funny, Mark. But no, I think I can handle Mrs. Finklestein and her army of felines.”

We both burst out laughing – it was the first time we had genuinely laughed since that final bell rang at 2:30 PM, signaling the end of our school days. But as the moment faded into the past, our smiles slowly turned into quiet sobriety.

“Well, I’ll catch you tomorrow,” Mark said in a subdued voice. “But if you need to talk….”

“I got your digits,” I replied.

I turned and started walking towards my house when Mark called out, “Hey, Jim!”

I stopped and turned around. “What’s up?”

“May the Force be with you,” Mark said, making his best Han Solo impression.

I laughed and flipped him the bird over my shoulder before continuing down the sun-drenched sidewalk towards home.