Everyone has a perception on events. Perception as defined by Merriam-Webster is a result of perceiving : observation b: a mental image. Most often than not, others perceptions are their realities to life’s events.

I will start by quoting an old saying “A man’s best friend is ‘his’ dog” or was it a wives tale that said that? Whatever the origin of the ‘saying’ may be I have come to the conclusion that those words ring true; regardless of your gender. This story is not about my four-legged furry best pal Jessie, may she forever rest in peace. Jessie’s story my friends, as charming, whimsical and painful as it is, has been reserved for another time. I have had many “best friends” throughout my life thus far but the deepest began in my childhood. I had two very precious childhood friendships that poured the first layers of concrete to the foundation of who I am today. The reels of the youthful memories captured, turned into mini motion pictures in my mind, will forever be held sacred and stored lock-and-key behind a vault in the deepest roots of my heart .They are engrained in me and will only vanish when the mere existence of my being departs this motherly earth. Unfortunately for me, both of those childhood friendships moved away and are two entirely separate stories. But this…oh, this one…this story is about the first.

The very first seed of friendship blossomed in my soul when I was five years old. It was the spring of 1979, moving day or shall I say as my ‘reality’ recalls, move-in day. “Which room do you want Miss. Shauna?” my mother asked. “Oh, I don’t know the biggest one”. I ran upstairs only to find my older and only sister had already claimed fame to the room holding that title. Since my father vehemently denied my proposal of me residing in the master bedroom, my only options at this point were to take residence in one of the two vacant rooms located at the very end of the hallway. One was much smaller than the other but had an obscure location. It was a left turn off the little path in the hallway and faced in its own direction. It had one window with no view. No one could see in and really there was nothing to see out. I kind of liked that about that room. The room was different, out-of-place, a fish out of water, resistant in a way… maybe a little like me…resistant…resistant about this move. Why did we have to move? I was perfectly content with the small swing set I had in my back yard at my old house. My BFF and love of my life Johnny W. lived next door. We were going to get married you know. We swore it so in blood and pinky spit on it. Why did we have to move? I was kind of starting to have a connection to that room. My parents lead me down the hallway to the other room which was larger and had a big window with a nice view of the neighboring houses across the street. Much to my chagrin, my dad informed me I was to take occupancy in this room. “This room brings in a lot of sunshine and is a spectacular room…just look at the view. You can see all of the neighbors” my dad said. My dad loved the use of the word Spectacular and still does to this day. .. I wasn’t crazy about this room. Why would I want to go in there? I don’t want to get to know any of ‘these people’. I don’t care to stare out the window to the reflections of their rooms. I mean, I am only here on a temporary basis… once I save enough money in my piggy bank I am buying the house on Briarwood and moving back to being next door to Johnny. I begrudgingly sat my suitcase filled with Barbie dolls on the floor and called this space my room. Father knows best right? At least Jim Anderson did or so it seemed on television so this must be true. My dad smiled walked out and ordered the movers to unload my furniture into my new room. Soon after and for many years to follow, I learned that sometimes father really does know best and that the sitting my hot pink suitcase on the floor was one of the best decisions I could have ever made.

Days became nights and nights became days. They repeated themselves over and over with much dullness until finally something happened. A moving van pulled up alongside the vacant house directly across the street and a carload of people soon followed. What is this? Are my eyes deceiving me? It can’t’ be…It couldn’t be but it was…a little girl my age wearing glasses and brown hair hopped outside the open car door. Out came another, it appeared to be an older brother. The mother, slender in physique was bent over getting something else out of the car. She soon popped out of the car with a blonde curly-haired little boy perched on her hip. I yelled for my mom to hurry and exclaimed “Grab your coat; I need you to take me outside!” She threw on a sweatshirt and ran a quick hairbrush threw her short red hair. Hand and hand mother and I rushed over to greet the new people on the scene. As we fast approached, I could hear blasting from the car radio the lyrics “Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry ..Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in Rye” from the song American Pie by Don McLean.

The youngest boy was named Justin. He had snow-capped curly locks and crystal blue eyes. He was the cutest little boy that I have ever laid eyes on to this day. I secretly wanted him as my own little brother and would often carry him around on my hip acting as his mother hen. Justin later became known as “Bud”, which fit his spunky personality perfectly. Jennifer and I became fast friends…correction best friends…very best friends at that. We were inseparable but not as inseparable as her oldest brother, Adam and his best friend Mark, who lived diagonally across the street from them and two doors down from me. Mark and I wore out our welcome from time to time over there…He and Adam with their endless hours mastering Pitfall and Jennifer and I playing with our Barbies. We watched countless hours of The Price is Right and at night would make signals with flash lights from our bedroom windows that faced each other as a form of communication. Adam and Mark did the same thing. In the deep dark hours of nightfall, our flash light Morris Code would replicate the action of fire flies. I would know when she was up in the mornings as she would pull her blinds up and I would know that was a cue for me to come over and vice versa.

I vividly remember August 1, 1981, at 12:01 a.m., Jennifer and I, along with my sister, her brothers and Mark hearing the words “Ladies and gentlemen, rock and roll,” spoken by John Lack as MTV launched their first video ever, Video Killed The Radio Star. We experience a lot of things together through our childhood, i.e. Michael Jackson, Madonna, bad hair styles ,vast overnights, several birthday parties, vacations, doldrums from the Saturdays’ of our mother’s hosting garage sales, holidays together and side by side bus rides to and from school.

Jennifer and I had wild imaginations and often envisioned our homemade plays, operated out of our basement, would someday make it as Broadway hits. We loved to roller skate, ride bikes, swim at the YMCA, hang from trees, host dance parties and play tag. Justin was always our little side kick. His zany personality was always causing mischief. Over time he learned how to throw a mean snow ball and had enough energy to break the arm-chain in “Red Rover.” His personality was contagious to be around and he was a personal comic relief show ,as he was always funny to watch and was such a dare-devil. He had no fear, which later in life served him well.

Jennifer and Adam’s driveway eventually became the hot spot to be for the morning bus stop. During the winter mornings Jennifer, Adam, Mark, Justin and I would pass time waiting for the school bus by shadowboxing, as my sister passed hers by being nose deep in a book, Judy Blume nonetheless.

We all grew up quickly and time passed as fast as sand passes through an hour-glass. You really do not realize that “these are the days of our lives” until you get older, gain perspective and find out that those you meet in your childhood will later inspire you as an adult.

It was the Fall of my 6th grade year that my parents broke the news that Jennifer and her family were moving to Michigan. It was news that I wanted to fall on deaf ears. I wanted to erase what I heard and place their words away from my world. I wanted to launch this information far far away to outer space and never hear them back again. Jennifer and I decided that we weren’t going to be defeated by heart-break and that we were going to take our own course of action titled Plan of Denial. We had promised each other that when the day came that was our last day to be on the bus together that we would remain on the school bus and ride off to another destination…We were going to have a strike against this move, a “Hell no…we won’t go” civil movement if you will. Our goal was that this plan of rebellion would ultimately cause her parents to stay in their house in Kentucky that was nestled across the street from me.

The ‘Day’ finally arrived and life of course had another plan. I was at recess trying to showcase my one-handed back walker in an effort to impress a fellow classmate, which was a move that I immediately regretted and would haunt me for years to follow. There was a loud “crack’ and then a “pop”. An extreme sensation of pain, pressure and agony ran up and down my left arm. What I did not realize at the time of performing my awesome gymnastic maneuver was that the ground behind me was very uneven. Instead of placing my one sturdy arm on level ground, I had placed it in a pot hole causing my arm to twist and jolt creating a compound fracture. I severely broke my arm, which was in the shape of a “z” and was immediately rushed to the emergency room. I had to miss several days of school, wound up having my arm reset twice and was in a cast up to my elbow for three months. I hated that cast. I was absolutely devastated this happened, not only because the break ruined my gymnastic career but because it happened on the last day that Jennifer and I were to ride the bus home together. Our plan to strike was an epic fail.

Jennifer and her family came to see me as soon as I got home from the hospital. She and her brothers made their claim to fame by signing their names all over my cast with different colored markers. Her parents were tying up loose ends at their house and were getting prepared to get ready for the move. The weekend that Jennifer’s official move were to take place, my parents had decided that they were going to take me and my sister away for a weekend get-a-way, later I found out that this was to keep me from being disruptive and emotional from witnessing the actual move. My parents did this as an attempt to protect me from the hurt of the move…as best as their efforts were, it did just the opposite. As soon as we returned from our mini vacation, I sprinted over to Jennifer’s house. My mother yelling after me “Shauna, please…don’t”…My dad in a slow-paced fashion followed me.

I reached the front porch, rang the door bell in hopes that Jennifer would answer, waited and then made my way to the front window. I attempted to peer in and as my hands hit the window my cast made a “ca –clunk” sound….oh, that damn cast…it was a constant reminder that I missed my final bus ride with Jennifer. I focused my view into the window and there sat the house, once filled with liveliness and laughter, totally empty. I could hear it roaring up in the back of my mind… “Something touched me deep inside …Bye, bye Miss American Pie”. It may not have been the day the music died for me but a part of my childhood sure did that day. I wept profusely as my dad watched from the driveway giving me the space that I needed. He waited what seemed like hours until he gathered me from Jennifer’s doorstep. Without a word, he walked me home with his arm around me.

Mark signed my cast the following Monday before school at the bus stop. He tried to shadow box me in the head to make me laugh but the magic of the game was gone without Jennifer, Adam and Justin. We never spoke to each other about our own personal sorrow regarding the move. We didn’t need to…it was understood. Years passed and Jennifer, Adam and Justin all made their way back to Kentucky. Their family moved across town and for a time we all went to different schools.

At nine years old Justin aka “Bud” was diagnosed with leukemia. Justin put up a courageous battle against leukemia and with fist blazing fought it like a true warrior for ten years. His tough and resilient attitude kept him brave. To no surprise Jennifer, the sweet heart she is and doting big sister, donated her bone marrow to him. Justin was featured in a movie, “Lion in the House” which documented his struggles with the illness. Bud was nineteen years old when he passed away. There was a line wrapped completely around the building during Bud’s visitation and funeral. He touched the lives of so many. Cancer is a horrific illness and its tentacles torment and haunt the lives of many….way to many.

We tried to stay in touch but life got in the way…new friends got in the way, college, career, marriage, kids and life just happened. Before I knew it, my twenties had come and gone and my thirties vastly approached.

It was a November day when my parents decided to clean their basement. They came across a box marked “Shauna’s Stuff” written in my youthful handwriting in green colored marker. In an effort to minimize “junk” from their house my dad delivered the box to me. I debated to throw it away without going through it. My mindset was if I haven’t had whatever the contents were in the box for decades then why do I need them now? The box set in my garage for almost a week. I came home from a run one evening and felt compelled to check out what was in the box. I mean the garbage is coming the next day…why not? I rummaged through the box only to find stuff from my childhood…a teddy bear here…a Barbie there…my elementary school diary, an old sweatshirt and then there it was at the bottom of the box….the dreaded cast. As I pulled the cast from the box the music started to sing in my mind “A long long time ago I can still remember how that music used to make me smile”…and suddenly I saw it, the music started blasting in my mind” Bye bye Miss American Pie”. Written seven times on my cast was the name Justin “BUD” Ashcraft. I fell to my knees and the flood gates of memories overflowed. I held the cast close to my heart and at that given moment made the decision to run the 2011 Full Flying Pig Marathon in Justin’s honor as a participant in team in training to raise money towards The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I called Debbie, Justin’s mother the next day to ask for her permission to do so. It had been moons since the last time she heard from me. We cried, laughed, shared stories, caught up and before we knew it we were on the phone for hours. I was thirty-five years old at the time. The last time I physically saw Justin alive, I was in my early twenties. It was at Jennifer’s wedding. He was in her ceremony and had to pushed down the aisle by Adam in a wheelchair.

Bud’s spirit stayed with me during my six month training. I thought about Justin daily and even reconnected back with some of his family members. I would run sometimes in our old neighborhood and would reminisce about memories that I had tucked away deep in the pockets of my mind. I got to see Adam, who I had not seen in almost fifteen years and met his beautiful wife and children.

Race day came. Adam and Debbie were at the race. They were there at mile 16 cheering team in training runners on. Jennifer and Mark followed me on the internet supporting my fundraiser page by supplying pictures and writing positive and encourage notes on my Face Book. I had completed an agonizing 26 miles and still had .2 to go. I was tired, famished, and had hit “the wall” that runners talk about. I was almost there…the end was in sight. I reached for my iPod and shuffled to the song that I had planned to listen to as I crossed the finish line. I started to cry. My plantar fasciitis was starting to flare up and I was running with a limp. A young spectator, thinking I was crying due to my injury, yells “Pain in temporary …pride is forever…You are a marathoner now girl…good job”. I picked up my pace and neared the finish line. As I crossed, my music was blaring “But something touched me deep inside the day the music died… So, bye, bye Miss American Pie drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry” I hoisted my arms skyward and whispered under my breath…”This ‘Bud’ is for you.”