BILL CADY Word Count: 149,227 - At My Friend's Place

Bill Cady, The Early Years … by Bill Cady 168
I never called Bob Chouinard anything but Bob. Sometimes just Chouinard. He
had no nicknames I ever knew of. I just called him Bob. This time, it was different. He
leaned over me, his face as white as a sheet. I whispered, “Bobby, you‟d better go get my
Dad.”
Not a clue, even today, on the “Bobby” part. Not even a remote hint as to why I‟d
have him go get my old man. None. Our house was six blocks away. Bob busted some
serious ass to get there and back, but I was dead before he made it. I can remember Bob
Kendregan telling me to hold on, everything was gonna be okay, and I died.
It wasn‟t anything like that scene from Magnum, P.I., swirling white clouds and
heavenly blue colors. I merely became a spectator at my own death. I was around thirty
feet above the scene. I don‟t recall having any bodily formation or vehicle to carry my
soul. I was just there, watching.
I looked down to the street and that poor white boy. A very white, white, white,
white boy. A very dead white boy. There was a massive pool of blood. I assume that,
and shock, are what killed me. I saw the ambulance arrive, paramedics jumping out and
getting right at it. They knew it would be an uphill battle to save this kid. The odds just
weren‟t all that good. Bob Kendregan was still trying to help me. He said something to
the medics, then got the hell out of there before any cops showed up, which wouldn‟t be
much longer.
Bob Chouinard came back with my parents. Mom looked the saddest I‟d ever
seen her in my life. Bob was still very ashen, looking as if he needed the EMTs even
worse than I did.
My Dad was absolutely pitiful. His most disadvantageous feature, in my opinion,
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