So this will get lost but I feel like i need to get this off my chest. Growing up I would always hang out across the street at my friends house, 3 boys and a single mom. We got away with everything (smoking, drinking, etc..) And it was the place to go when I wanted to get away. My friend that lived there (we will call him Bill) Bill was the oldest out of the 3 and we always hung out, I would steal packs of smokes from my parents and bring them over to him and he would let me shoot his BB gun or play with some new invention he came up wtih. Bill was 17 and the smartest guy i knew. One day we got into a minor fight as he was pissed i was in his house and he was fighting with his mom. I left and went back to my house. Every night i would see his window light on and every now and then I would go over and knock on his window to bull shit and smoke a cig with him. That night i looked over and saw that his light was on, but i knew he was mad at me so i didn't go over. The next morning I found out that BIll killed himself with a shotgun that his grandparents bought him. I've never been able to let down that I could have gone over there and talked him out of it.