My Tribute To Mark Paine

Well its been over two years now since Mark was killed in Iraq. Its pretty amazing actually to think that its been that long. I guess I’m now a bit more settled in accepting what happened. For the longest time it has simply had an unreal quality to it…

I remember getting up and speaking at his funeral service out in Moraga a few days after getting the horrific news. I was a shaky mess. 1/3 due to the shocking news. 1/3 due to speaking to a crowd (in a state of being shocked). And 1/3 due to the fact my own life had just begun to fall apart.

What I was feeling or wasn’t feeling during that service, was my readiness to look back and reflect on a friendship and an individual that I held in incredibly high regard. So I didn’t touch on it. I only expressed my regret and best wishes for his family.

But it’s been two years now, and even though I’m not standing in that church amongst many of his friends and former classmates, I instead will use the old blog to pay tribute to a dear friend…

The reason that I’m even thinking about this tonight is because I just got back from an incredible moon light stroll through and around parts of the Moraga Golf Course that when finished, had me near Paine’s old place he lived at when we were friends. For some reason I was just feeling so good tonight and seeing a familiar moon lighting up the areas that we use to scramble around in (usually in Laser Tag gear) just made me happy.

I believe we only get a few friendships in life that truly change our life, if we’re lucky, and my friendship with Mark was one of those…

I first truly met Mark in Mr. Hiller’s 8th grade history class. (Never mind the fact that Mark and I shared every single teacher going back to kindergarten. I’m not even kidding. We found out this fact one day after we rolled off our list of teachers from Burton Valley. Needless to say, I didn’t even really remember him. Sorry pal. You know his father did coach one of my undefeated s0ccer teams and I vaguely recall the slightly pudgy Mark in his gut stretched red Cybell’s Pizza shirt, but that’s about it).

But back to 8th grade history. Mark sat next me and across from this girl named Cynth*a P*nningt*n. She was a relative beauty who always wore a skirt, and as memory serves, we always tried to look up it. I’m not sure if our shared acknowledgment of our voyeurism is what started our friendship, or if it was our shared interest in doing well in history.

My first quarter in that class I received a generous C- which was very reflective of all my grades back at the time. Back then when everything was going wrong. (No I will spare you my moanings of all that shit again). After that quarter however, I begun to really take control of my situation finally, and in turn my grades followed. History for some reason led the way. By terms end I would end up with an A+, and the highest grade in the class. Props for ever-resilient BN!

Anyways, Paine was a self-proclaimed history buff and seemingly knew the material. And material not taught in the class, by the way. It was not uncommon for Mark to raise his hand and say such things as, “But wait, Mr. Hiller. Nixon did good things as well. He was responsible for opening talks with China.” Just crazy shit like that coming out of his mouth. Sure he was showing off a bit, but fuck it, why the hell would he know this shit? It’s one thing to study for the grade and show off. It’s another to cite other history books you read in your spare time. 8th grade dude. Not your typical kid. And for whatever reason it didn’t come off as annoying. At least not to me.

So maybe it was the combination of history and P*nningt*n’s white panties that did it. That I would guess got our friendship rolling. And what enabled it to take off, was our similar sense of humors. On too many occasions we would be in class and just start laughing due to a look or something insignificant. Before we knew it we would be suppressing a laugh far too large and most likely unhealthy to stifle. The choking of tears, the sputtering of sounds, the friendly but annoyed glare from Mr. Hiller who was trying to continue on with his lecture. Me with my head on my desk, shaking. Beginning to sweat profusely, and then having to leave the classroom cause I just couldn’t take it…

Sometime soon thereafter, after all those in-class episodes, Mark and I began hanging out at one another’s house. Usually his because for some reason mine was always boring.

His first house was in Lafayette, but after six months or so, as we graduated and said goodbye to the shit hole experience that was junior high, he moved to the Moraga Country Club where I made my rounds tonight.

Man did we have fun. Well wait… First off I have to point out again that junior high for me was hell due to what had happened to me back then. Insert a friendship and fun that came along with Mark, and all I can say…is what a God send. My hell was a private and shameful experience. No one knew about it. Not even my best friend of ten years around the corner knew about it at this point. I remember walking out of a theater (Jan Claude Van Damme movie of course) and after stepping out into the light, I became disoriented and dropped to my knees. It was part of my symptomology and…whatever it’s part of my story.

Needless to say that action wasn’t something that Mark had seen in me or anyone else. Here I was clutching my skull and down on one knee, and there was Mark freaked out asking what in the hell was wrong. His concern was really mature and atpyical in looking back. It’s kind of hard to put my finger on, but it was very parental.

Fortunately my spell passed as it always did and we went into a Chinese restaurant for a little meal. Or hell a big meal, I don’t remember. His parents would be picking us up later, so we resumed a normal fun day after a freaky little episode, teaching me life could go on without the horror of my shit. And not only that, my new friend wouldn’t judge or ditch me for it…

Freshman year came and went. I was at Acalanes and Paine was at Campolindo. We spent, I would safely guess, every single weekend hanging out. Again not at my boring place, but at his. It wasn’t even something we had to ask our parents about. It was just understood and expected. Sure sometimes my mom would ask why Mark doesn’t come over here sometime. “Well because there’s nothing to do here mom”. And she would leave it at that.

Sophomore year would come. Were getting a bit older but still hanging out just as much. Earlier that summer Mark had turned 16 and acquired a set of wheels. Or rather just used his dad’s convertible Lebaron. Man, that was 100% fun and 100% freedom. I remember Paine tossing on Creedence Cleerwater Revival or Crosby Stills and Nash into the tape player clear as day. Us cruising with the top down no matter if it was 55 degrees out. We were loving life.

And when we joined Golden Triangle gym at 16. Wolf was our trainer. Seriously, this wasn’t American Gladiators (though that was one of our favorite shows), this dude’s name was Wolf. Or at least his army nickname was Wolf. He was our assigned personal trainer for one day who tailor made workouts for my scrawny physique and Paine’s paunchy one. The fact that they were the same workout should have registered something in looking back, but Wolf, man. Who the hell cares with that dude as your trainer. We were psyched. We were going to be cool and buffed like Jan Claude. I of course, in typical me fashion, became obsessed with it and didn’t stop pushing till I had transformed my 99 pound sand in the face body to something more lumpy and appealing.

But those days were later. Those days would witness me being more self centered and off really, which would also witness the drifting off of Mark and I’s relationship.

But those days weren’t coming yet…

We were lifting. We were dreaming of bigger and better things. The chicks we were going to pull. The football teams we were going to star on.

We were getting aggressive and having fun. Going over to his satellite pool, throwing in all the communities lawn furniture in, and then upon finding the barrel of chlorine, WISELY dumping it in so the water would be too cloudy to see so we could play our own version of underwater Marco Polo. Very healthy.

But shit it was fun. Everything was fun. Including the girls that were now entering our sphere.

Sure not the cutest or most popular, but it didn’t matter. Not yet, and sadly that that had to change.

Two girls by the same first name entered our group. Mark would lose his virginity to one. I would set my own personal best in “base running” with the other. Personal best being past first. Not t0o hard to break for a 16-year-old. But instead of just the sound of twoinnnnggg that should have arisen from my pants, I heard the BOOM BOOM BOOM from my heart. I was a young romantic, what can I say?

Now it wasn’t love, but it was certainly an amorous feeling. I remember the four of us, or I guess there were a few other girls from their group that came along. We all climbed up into the green hills of Moraga with blankets and a boombox. I remember Buddy Holly was playing True Love Ways on the tape deck. Certainly my contribution. My enjoyment of it only shared by Paine. I only listened to 50’s/60’s music until college due to the Stand By Me soundtrack that came out in the late 80’s and entirely changed my listening habits.

Anyways, I remember saying something to this girl about my feelings, and her saying something about how she still thinks about her ex, which had me running at full speed down the hill with Paine yelling out, “What did you say to him?” in anger.

That’s what kind of guy he was. He was protective and strong like that. He wasn’t about playing it cool or being embarrassed, as he arguably should have been.

And later when Paine would date this same girl… Well, before he would eventually date this girl and make her his girlfriend, he would come to me and ask for my permission. Class act. I of course said yes since time had passed and I had become less dorky and all, and also because he was my best friend and totally had my respect and blessing.

And speaking of this lack of needing to act cool or whatnot. This is what was atypical about this guy. Even back in junior high he was friends with the biggest social outcasts. Not the outcasts that were hard or bad or anything, but the ones that were so awkward, strange, and smelled. You know whom I’m not specifically referring to. The ones that are the butt of every joke. Yeah, he was friends with them, and much to the discomfort I found out one evening from Mark’s mother who expressed her concern one afternoon that maybe he could find more friends like me. Which in reply Mark said, “But what’s wrong with them?” Not to make a point, but because he really didn’t understand. That type of unawareness was so special and so touching. And I truly mean the words in that last sentence.

And wow, come to think about it, another example that illustrates what I’m talking about is how he reacted when I was dumped by my first girlfriend, Brooke. Or should I say BrOOke. She had the biggest breasts in our school, and wasn’t the slightest bit overweight. The only reason I was able to land a fish like this was because for some reason I was cocky one day at our bus stop and she assumed I had social confidence, which in fact I had none. I would soon go on to find that she had a crush on me, and before I knew it, I had asked her out while on the bus.

She would be my first kiss… And W-O-W, I saw fireworks. I kid you not, I was utterly dazed and transformed by this kiss. We were outside on this wooden half wall behind Round Table in Lafayette, and after this earth shattering kiss, she led me behind this alley so I could most predictably feel her cans and perhaps do more. Unfathomable actions to a 14-year-old like me. Little did she realize that all I wanted to do was plan where we would live and what type of lacquer we should apply to our white picket fence.

Needless to say we lasted only a month, but when she ditched me and my already abandoned dreams (since I knew I was outclassed) Paine made a pretty big display sticking up for me in front of all her friends. Telling her she couldn’t think for herself and couldn’t do better or whatnot. A stellar dude…

Well… I’ve gone on quite a long time here but I think I gave you a pretty good picture about this guy. After our junior year we began our drift and when I transferred to Campolindo for my senior year, we had become largely different people. At least in how we interacted with the outside world. I was no longer gangly and vulnerable. And Paine was no longer simply unaware of how he should or shouldn’t be acting. We were also preparing for young adulthood and where we would be heading off to school. Me to Cal Poly (later I would transfer to the mecca that is UCSB), and him to West Point to begin his officer training.

Even though time had passed and we no longer related like we used to, we both were able to sit down as 18-year-olds and sign one another’s yearbook with words and sentiments that were nearly identical. Even though we were going our own ways, we were permanently bound by our pasts and a friendship that would survive no matter where life would take us. No matter how much or little contact we would have. We were best friends and would always remain that way.

I love you Mark. You totally and completely blessed my life and I am so sorry for the tragic ending and brevity of your life. You were a brave and compassionate soul with tremendous gifts and I know that you touched and changed many more lives that just my own.

I will always carry you with me.

Rest in peace my brother.

Love, your best friend.

BN