Many years ago, some friends and I had rented a cabin at a park called Salt Fork. During the two-and-a-half days of our stay, a few pictures were taken to forever capture all of the wild times the bunch of us had been through together. Looking at this photo, I vividly recall all the sights, sounds, and feelings that helped the six of us bond together more than we had ever been before.

In the picture, we were stuffed inside a small cabin, relaxing after a long and crazy day of fishing, swimming, and adventuring through the forest that surrounded us. Set into the wooden walls, a window looked out into the night. From here, we watched one of our friends hunt for the imaginary critter called "The Snipe" that we swore was outside in the bushes. When he came back, I could not stop myself from laughing because I had already suffered through this initiation the night before.

I was slouched in a low chair on one side of a small end table, wearing my typical clothing: a pair of blue jeans, a grungy-looking flannel shirt, and my father's marine cap that he had given me when I was just a kid. My long, messy hair rested loosely across my shoulder. I had a big smile on my face, laughing at all of the jokes and humorous memories we all talked about well into the morning hours. Every minute and every thought that we shared with each other brought us closer and closer together.

My best friend, Steve, was laying back in an identical chair on the other side of the table. He was wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of nasty-looking jogging pants. I always jokingly told him he looked like a derelict. Whenever I expressed this opinion, I usually found myself used as a target for anything he could get his hands on. Then we would get into a friendly wrestling match until someone finally gave up and professed the other one the winner. Through this childish abuse, we competed against each other and showed the strength of our friendship.

My friend, Eric, was laying upon a couch across from me. His left arm was pointing straight up into the air as if he was trying to grab our attention. This was the same hand, on a dare, he had doused in hairspray and lit on fire the night before. We were always daring each other to do crazy things. In a way, the strange acts we dared each other to perform proved how strongly each person valued our little group.

I was more than just myself that day, for I was part of a group. We did not live in the past. We did not worry about an uncertain future. We had each other. It was incredibly freeing to be able to share my thoughts and feelings with others who actually cared.

Nobody wants to be alone in this world, and when there are people there to listen to me, I can feel the stress of life wash away. There is nothing better than to look around a room of other people and know each one of them can honestly be called friend. The laughter from that moment captured in time is now gone, but I will always have these memories. I feel content, knowing that there are five other people who have five other photographs of a small, cramped cabin filled with young men who cared about each other.