On June 30, I received a voicemail that, for one reason or another, I still cannot believe to be true.

After a night of beach volleyball, I came home to find a voicemail on my cell phone from an old friend. I was immediately curious to see what his message was as we hadn’t spoken in quite some time and I was happy to see that he had called. As I listened to the message, the scene played out like that of a movie…my cell phone dropped out of my hand and I began to weep.

Sgt. Juan Carlos Baldeosingh was dead.

On a day where Americans and Iraqis alike were celebrating the withdrawal of U.S. troops from Iraq, I found myself grieving the loss of my best friend.

As fate would have it, Carlos was due to come home in a week for a 2 week leave. His mission on the night of the 29th, however, turned deadly when his Humvee hit an IED and ended his life and the three other soldiers in the vehicle. He leaves behind a wife and three amazing little girls.

My thoughts swirl as I try and think about what to write next. Perhaps I can explain the title of this blog. Carlos is someone who always truly “got” me. In friendships, however, this can sometimes be a mixed blessing as someone who “gets” you generally knows how to torture you as well. For some reason, I have a penchant for useless knowledge and, perhaps more importantly, for being able to have an answer on demand. Carlos always liked to put me to the test but was never able to stump me. One night, after having just fallen asleep, my phone rang. I picked up the phone only to find silence on the other end. “Hello?” I asked again. This time the response was a giggle that was desperately trying to be controlled. I knew who it was immediately, however, before I could say anything else, the giggle erupted into maniacal laughter followed by the question, “What was the name of the bunny rabbit on Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?!” Then he hung up. I sat there wracking my brain trying to come up with an answer. I would not be stumped. Mind you, this was before the days of Wikipedia or any other significant database on the net. Then, through some sort of divine intervention I came up with the answer. At around 3 or 4a.m. I called Carlos at home and proclaimed, “Usagi Yojimbo!” He replied with a groggy, “Are you serious?” He couldn’t believe 1) I figured out the answer and 2) I was calling this early to tell him. We both laughed, hung up the phone, and went back to sleep. We talked about that stupid phone call almost every time we saw each other thereafter.

Carlos’ laugh was an all-natural antidepressant. If I had a recording of his laugh, I would play it for anyone that was having a bad day. I could almost guarantee that it would make you feel better. His laugh was one of a kind and, as I mentioned above, almost maniacal at times. Carlos’ laugh was contagious and he routinely made me feel like I was Jerry Seinfeld telling jokes on stage. He was the perfect audience. Carlos may be gone, but that laugh will resound in my head forever.

Let me take it back to the beginning…our friendship began one day on the way home from Holy Trinity High School. For one reason or another, I basically had my own private bus on the way to school, but rode the Hempstead bus home. The bus was packed in the afternoon and each day I tried to figure out how to approach the crew in the back and possibly be welcomed to the back of the bus. My attempts were futile at best. Instead, what typically happened was that I sat near the front of the bus (I say near because the actual front of the bus would be pathetic), plugged in my Walkman (later a Discman), and tried to do some homework. Just about as lame as you can get. One day, as the route was nearing its end, I noticed that the bus had all of a sudden become eerily quiet. The only sound was the music blaring from my headphones. Someone shouted, “Yo!” from the back of the bus. I didn’t dare respond. Again someone yelled, “AYO!” “Shit,” I thought. I had better not piss this guy off. I turned around and sheepishly replied, “Yeah?” When I turned around, my eyes were shocked to see that unmistakable smile followed by the shocked question, “Are you listening to Biggie?!” By the time we reached my stop, I had a permanent pass to the back of the bus, an invitation to a party that weekend, and had met one of the most dynamic personalities I will have ever come across in my life. I will never forget that day and I will never forget how he made this dorky white boy feel welcomed and accepted.

Okay, so the first party invitation was probably because I was the one who had a car. I realized this as I was driving that Friday night with half of Hempstead in my back seat…but I was okay with that! I was alright with being “the driver.” As the years passed, Carlos and I had many an adventure in that black 1995 Pontiac Sunfire. We would cruise around Long Island blasting whatever rap or reggae song we were feeling in the moment. For some reason two songs that got the most play were: Barrington Levy’s “Here I Come” to Bad Yard Club’s “In De Ghetto.” I’m not exactly sure why but these two were definitely playlist heavies. Music was something that was always important to us. We would have extended conversations about Biggie vs. Tupac. Carlos always favored Tupac hands down. We would hit up clubs and dance the night away…I can remember some very interesting nights at the “Tunnel” in NYC. We had plans to take over the NYC club world and put Peter Gatien out of business. Well that didn’t work out well for any of us did it? I can remember when I started leaning towards dance music; thinking that there was no way he would follow me to the House music genre. That was until I walked into his room one day and found an Armand Van Helden CD on top of his stereo. “The Funk Phenomena!” he came in from the kitchen yelling, and I knew I had a convert on my hands.

Another favorite topic of conversation was Garden City vs. Hempstead. We used to laugh endlessly as we compared the two towns. If you live in the area, then you know Meadow Street is a street that marks a very clear delineation between Hempstead and Garden City. On one side there are trees and mansions, on the other, complete urbanization. Carlos’ favorite thing to point out was that at least the Town of Hempstead was kind enough to put a bench on the corner of Meadow and Clinton for the residents of Hempstead to admire Garden City. I always followed with, “Yeah but it’s not even a nice bench!” It wasn’t. Carlos enjoyed playing basketball at the park near my house after school and keeping the teenage, ever so conservative park monitor on edge (I believe he called the police once). For me, there was nothing like dropping Carlos off after a long night and driving around the block to a bunch of guys waving and shouting various greetings. In a place that could be rather unnerving at times, I found security. I owe that to Carlos.

After learning of his passing, my mother told me an interesting story about Carlos. She said, “You know I knew Carlos WAY before you!” I had remembered that my mother was actually a guidance counselor at Carlos’ elementary school but knew little else. My mom continued to tell me that one day she was chatting with the principal, a stern, old-school nun, and noticed a young boy sitting outside of her office. My mom asked who he was and the principal replied, “Ahh, that is Carlos. He is such a sweet boy…but I am very worried about his temper!” I got such a laugh when I heard that story. It described him perfectly. I always knew him as such a genuine person. And as far as the temper goes, well let’s just say I was always happy he was on my side.

This has been a difficult two weeks to say the least. I find myself existing in some sort of a haze. It is easy to get caught up in the procedure of grieving without having to actually think about the loss. I’ve buried myself in things like Googling for articles, posting on Facebook, and attending his memorial in North Carolina, however, each time I actually stop and think about the person I’ve lost in my life, I weep. Carlos’ upcoming burial at Arlington is going to be quite a challenge. I am angered that this war has taken him from me, however, I am proud to see him receive such a dignified and revered sendoff. Carlos was one of the best… no, he was THE best. He served our country and gave his life. He served me as a friend and gave me life. I will love you and miss you forever brother.

Love, Chris