text: When she called me, I was happy to go pick her up for dinner. I hadn't seen Hildie for a couple years, and she was the funniest person I ever met. Of course, all her stories and antics were hilarious to everyone except the person who suffered - but I wasn't that person. Or I wasn't that person very often. So, yeah, Hildie was a riot and a half. Fall down funny. She was a wild child from the get go. When we were fourteen (she and I are the same age), she and her friend Hoopla (that was his nickname) got in so much trouble. They put a load of firecrackers in the cannon in front of City Hall, lit one and threw it in. Washington Hills, Idaho, is a small place. There were expensive houses right across the street from City Hall, because all of the "downtown" area of Washington Hills was in the very same block with City Hall. So when the firecrackers went off, a chunk of something (probably a little bit of cement supposed to make the cannon a non-weapon) flew across the street and knocked a hole in the mayor's roof. Hoopla gave himself up right away. And then he gave up Hildie too. For some reason, Hildie didn't care about his betrayal, and she continued to tell her Mayor Ripling's Roof Story any time she thought of it. (Except that she called him "Mayonnaise Ripling". Every time.) I was looking forward to talking with her again. I'd never eat at her house again - because she left everything in the turkey one year. She yelled, "Oh my God, it's like Super Sugar Crisp. There's a prize inside!", and she pulled out a bag of stuff that basically split apart all over the tablecloth. There was turkey organ juice everywhere! I think I laughed for a week over that. No, I wasn't going to her place to eat, but we could go to any restaurant. And I would refuse, this time, to take home her leftovers. I was a little bit pissed at her the time we went to Tony's, and she ordered a marinara spaghetti, and cut it into tiny shards, her fork going all over every speck of food on her plate. She ate less than a quarter of it, and started telling me I should take it home. She got a little huffy when I mentioned to her that she had stuck the fork she put in her mouth into every shred of food, so I relented and took the leftovers home. I fed them to the dog, because he never cared whose mouth touched what. We could go to the new Greek place in town, Ya-Ya's. Hildie had pretty broad tastes. Also, Ya-Ya's was on the other side of town from the Fire Station. Hildie had a reputation there. For some reason, the guys at the Fire Station liked playing cards with her, but that relationship foundered after she exposed herself to the Fire Chief's grandson. How could she have known who the life guard at the City Pool was...? I called Ya-Ya's and made a reservation. Then I started the drive over to Hildie's place. I turned onto Cemetary View, and thought about the time Hildie duct-taped herself. She was trying to jog to lose weight, but her bust was giving her issues. She was a 38 DDD - even in high school she had big jugs - and none of the sports bras kept her from flopping when she jogged. She had tried elastic bandages, but that wasn't the answer. Not only did she still have the flopsies - both of them flopped right out of the bandage. One up, one down. She told me she was going to duct tape the bastards down. That was in a phone call. I laughed like a loon. Three hours later I get the call from the Washington Hills Police. I had to come get her. She had duct-taped her bust. She had stuck the duct tape to a door jamb at home, and then spun around to wrap herself. Then she put on a mesh tank top and went for a jog. Her jog lasted less than three blocks. It was a super warm day, and she started to sweat. I guess her armpits swelled up or something. Then her titties started to hurt really bad too. So her pits and her tits were on fire. She couldn't put her arms down. Right there on the sidewalk, she tried to take her shirt off, and got stuck. She had the shirt inside out, part of it over her head, one arm free and held out to the side, the top of her tummy pooched over her waistband because she was half bent over, part of the tape stuck to the shirt, part of it stuck to her, screaming her guts out - "Help! Help! Somebody help me!" Office Stultz was driving up the road on his way home after his shift when he saw her almost topless and screaming. He had to call for backup because he couldn't fit her in the back of his car with her arms out like that. I went to pick Hildie up from the hospital. Removing the duct tape removed some of her skin. As soon as I saw her, I couldn't help blurting out, "Woman. What have you done to yourself?" She went home wearing two hospital gowns, and she looked like she had had a boob job. She looked like a 44 FFF with all the bandages. It took weeks for her to heal from that - but she still told the Duct Tape Story for years. I had to pull over at this point. I was laughing so hard I was crying... I couldn't stop the Hildie stories from bubbling up to the top. All of a sudden, I was laughing about her taking the wrong on ramp on I-84 between Nampa and Caldwell. She was driving, I was riding shot gun, and four of our friends were jammed into the back seat. We were all either a little high or a little drunk at the time - to each his own vice. All of a sudden, Hildie yanked the car into the left lane screaming, "Shit! I'm going the wrong way!" Then onto the berm we went - and that berm was not very wide right there - and she hauled hard left on the steering wheel, half standing up to get the wheel to turn that hard. We went across the grassy median. My visor was down. In the mirror, all I could see was a mass of hair (we all had long hair in those days) as all four people knocked heads in the back seat this way and that. She pulled out onto the highway going the other direction. She and I were laughing, but all the people in the back were either yelling at her or wailing about their poor skulls. For sure, Hildie was a maniac behind the wheel. Even though I knew I was putting my life in HER hands every time she drove, I would have gone anywhere with her. Usually the good outweighed the bad, to the point that it was worth it going through the bad stuff to get out on the good side again. I put the car in drive and drove slowly now. Her place was just ahead. I parked and got out of the car. I could already hear her calling for me. "Hoopla!" I said, "Hildie, nobody calls me Hoopla any more. Call me Sam." "Sssssssammm..." I stood in front of her gravestone and said, "Hildie, you have to stop calling me. You know I carry you in my heart everywhere I go. Even during the divorce, I never stopped loving you. But you have to let go. You have to move on. I moved on and remarried, and I'm not the same guy I used to be. Please stop calling me." As I drove away, I could still hear her as plain as if she were sitting in the seat next to me. "Put the pedal to the metal, Hoopla! We are gonna get old before we get there.