Sliding Doors and a Tribute to An Old Friend

This is a story about one of my oldest friends.

He had a huge impact on my life, and he died recently.

But let me start with a little background.

Do you ever have a thought or two about what might have happened or how your life might have been different if you’d gone down one road instead of another, or knocked on this door instead of that one?

Most of the time, I think we all are pretty much in auto-pilot mode when it comes to our daily living. We go to our jobs or schools, hang out with friends and family, and pursue various activities. But most of the time we do all of these things without thinking about where our daily choices may lead us. Auto-pilot.

You probably even have regrets about some of the choices you made… you know what I mean, stuff like “Oh, if I’d only gone with Paul that night, I wouldn’t have met Mark and ended up in that loveless 10-year marriage.”

Of course, Robert Frost’s famous poem, The Road Not Taken, speaks directly to that common situation, where you come to a crossroads in life and you have to make a choice, or someone else makes a choice for you. Going down one path means you can’t go down the other (at least simultaneously), and your life will always be different because of that choice, even though you’ll never know what would have happened if you’d gone down another road.

I saw a movie a few years ago called Sliding Doors that takes a little different look at the crossroads in life.  In the film, our hero (played by a young Gwyneth Paltrow) experiences two realities, simultaneously, where missing or catching her train leads to two completely different outcomes in her life.

In both the poem and the movie, the writers focus on choices that we make ourselves and which lead to different realities.  Sometimes, though, the path is dictated by another.

Such was the case in the summer after my 7th grade when my mom happily shared her news with the family that we’d be having an exchange student from Quito, Ecuador living with us for a year. And, even though he was a year older than I was, he’d be attending all of the classes with me as an 8th grader.  (Side note:  I still don’t get how moms can engineer all of these things behind our backs while we have no clue as to what’s going on.)

My mom was a Spanish teacher and was always surrounding us with all things Spanish and Latin American — food, books, movies, travel, and the dreaded hours of verb conjugations —  but now here there was a living, breathing Latin American boy coming to live with us, and he was to be my roommate and classmate for a year.

tributeHis name was Efrain Torres, and man-o-man did he take our neighborhood and our school by storm. He was already a man (he shaved daily) and I was a skinny, very shy boy. And when all of us were wearing crew-cuts, he arrived with wavy Elvis-like black hair. He was an immediate hit everywhere we went and I learned years later that quite a few of the neighborhood moms were caught drooling from time to time when he came around.

And in a time when I wouldn’t even look at a girl, Efrain was an incredible dancer and was able to charm both girls and boys. He had a wonderful and engaging personality, and everyone loved his stories and his constantly upbeat personality.

It would be a Friday evening and nothing special was going on, but Efraincito (the”ito” diminutive that Ecuadorians love to use for every noun in every situation… in this case meaning Little Efrain — his dad was Efrain too) could wrangle up a couple dozen friends for a pop-up dance party in just an hour or two.

Oh, and in a  time (1963-1964) when rock music was blasting out of radios all over the world, Efrain soon displayed that he could play the piano by ear… everything from classical pieces to the latest Beatles ditty. Instantly, after one listen.

Now, to top that off, at the time when sports were about the only thing that mattered to me, Efrain was the fastest runner in the school so he became a key cog on the track team.

The kid had it all — dancing, musical talents, girls, sports, and a certain savoir-faire that most people found irresistible. Picture what Cary Grant must have acted like as a young man, and there you have Efrain. But with dark, wavy black hair.

Over time we became close friends.  At the time I didn’t know much Spanish and somehow I’d thought that “buenas camadas” was Spanish for “so long.”  It meant nothing, actually, in English or Spanish, but after a while that saying became kind of secret code we’d use whenever, as kids, we weren’t going to get our way with something.  After mom said we couldn’t do something, he’d just look at me and say “buenas camadas, Miguelito.”  That was our sign to just leave things be.

Throughout the rest of our lives, any time we’d see each other, we’d always part with a hug and a chuckling”buenas camadas.”

Now, here’s where the poem and the movie come in… that one-year exchange turned into a life-exchange. Other than my mom (see this story about how she discovered Mexico and the Spanish language), Efrain was the reason I fell in love with Latin America.

My mom, younger sister, and I  spent the following summer with Efrain’s family in Quito, and I went down for visits quite frequently after that.  Kids from our neighborhood went to stay with Efrain and his family. I’m sure we set the record for most-kids-in-one-block-to-have-visited-Quito, in a time when traveling to the state next door was still a pretty big deal.

His twin sisters ended up as exchange students for three years in our town of Muncie, Indiana two years after Efrain’s visit.

Oh, and I married one of those girls. (We divorced about 20 years later, but remain friends.)

Those trips led to me falling in love with Latin American history and politics, where I’d end up studying those fields for six years in college and graduate school.

Fast forward to today, and my love affair with all things Hispanic continues.  Nine years ago I met and fell in love with a talented and beautiful Mexican woman, Nancy Campos, who after lengthy begging and pleading became my wife. You see, my entire life has centered around Latin America, and Nancy and I travel to Mexico and other parts of Latin America as much as we can.

My mom opened a door when I had no idea what was on the other side, and Efrain pulled me into a world that became my life.

I have great memories of our time together, Efraincito, and I’ll miss you.

Buenas camadas, old friend, and godspeed.


For a related story about the Spanish language in my young life, please check out my story called Dad, The Bean, and Enjoying the Ride.

One thought on “Sliding Doors and a Tribute to An Old Friend

  1. I remember his piano playing, to this day. How gifted he was! He could play anything by ear. Incredible.

Comments are closed.