Sam's Key

I lied when I said Sam was my only friend, but he's my only friend that ever given me his house key over and over. I'd get mad at him and take his key and give it back like an engagement ring, but he kept giving it back. He said even if I was too mad to be romantically inclined, he still wanted me to feel welcome anytime, day or night.
"You know what, Sam," I said, standing in front of his refrigerator with the door open, "You are the only person in the world whose refrigerator I feel comfortable opening." By now, Sam has learned that being 'comfortable' is a huge feat in the world of KD, so he is pleased.
Sam is a consummate host, who loves to cook, especially grilling out. He has an array of hot sauces each hotter than the next. He dips toothpicks in Bad Bills and Wallopin Willies and various other hot concoctions and passes them out at band practice to pep us up.
Sam is the one I could call to kill rats in my basement or pick me up when I got another flat tire. He'd switch cars with me if I had to drive long distances, and leave flowers in my mailbox. I could ask him to check a boil on my rear end without embarrassment and twice he made me go to the Susan B. Korman festival to get free mammograms.
Best of all, Sam and I played music. We'd play in the band room and in the hallway and the kitchen and the living room. We'd play electric guitars and acoustic guitars. Sometimes Sam would play drums or bass while I played guitar. Sometimes Sam would play guitar while I just sang. We loved to tape everything and then listen back to what we played. It was really, really fun.
I am so sorry I was on a Sam-break when he died, and that I acted like he'd go on forever and I could keep coming back, and back, like his key.