Conversations With Eddie

Mid-morning at St. Arbuck’s.

It had been a rough week, what with having said a final goodbye to Miss Alice, my mother-in-law.

She had fought bravely against the stroke that had come without warning, stripping away everything that had made her, well...her, and in the end, as so often happens when the very elderly are so stricken, it took her life.

My trip to St. Arbuck’s was an attempt to find solace in the routine, the mundane, the common and predictable ebb and flow of life in my favorite coffee shop.

I sat there slowly sipping my medium coffee, with room for cream, and enjoying the randomness of passing customers.

The Artist—no idea what his real name is, but that’s what I call him—was hard at work on a pen and ink drawing at the next table that was so dense with detail and brimming over with life that you’d swear the image was photographic.

Two young women were hunched over a computer puzzling about what to do with their fledgling company’s website and discussing the need for a more “robust” presence on the web.

A bored businessman patiently awaited the delivery of his beverage, his eyes betraying a more than passing interest in the young woman standing next to him—a twenty-something beauty so busy texting that the barista had to call her name three times before she collected her latte.

The collegian in the corner stared in studied concentration at absolutely nothing while listening to his iPod; fingers drumming out a crazy rhythm on the tabletop.

An aggressive, thirty-something salesman paced obsessively while talking to a potential customer on the phone.

In the midst of this fascinating human tableau, my phone rang.

I checked the caller ID.

It was Eddie.

That would be Eddie Washington, my disgustingly good-looking, African-American best friend, at present on indefinite assignment in New York City.

I answered the call.

“So, like I was saying—“

“What?” he replied, puzzlement coloring his deeply burnished voice.

“I was going to tell you what.”

“Tell me what, about what?”

“What do you mean?”

“Dude,” he said in that tone of longsuffering patience for which he is known far and wide.  “You can’t answer the phone like you’ve been in the middle of a conversation.”

“Says who?”

He sighed and then chuckled. “I miss you too, sugar.”

“We were in the middle of a conversation when you had to go. Remember?”

“Man, that was, what, three weeks ago?”

“’Bout that.”

“And you expect me to remember what we were talking about?”

I said, “This from the man who remembers minutia of arguments from years gone by?”

“Can’t help it if I’m in touch with my feminine side,” he replied huffily.

“Right. Anyway...like I was saying, why did you feel it necessary to move to the east coast when you had a perfectly good life here in Vegas, not to mention a perfectly good best friend whose life is now but a sad, hollow shell since you left!”

“Oh,” he said. “That.”

“Yes, that!”

“It’s like I told you, RG, the boy just wasn’t making enough money in Vegas and there are more opportunities for jazz musicians in New York.”

“But everyone who cares about you is here. Your life is here...not in New York!”

I could tell by the long silence that I had struck a nerve.

“I know all that,” he said quietly.

I’ve only seen the man cry twice in all the years I’ve known him, but I could tell he was close to doing so now.

He continued, “I’m so sad I wasn’t there to see Miss Alice off.”

“Yeah, it happened kind of suddenly,” I said.

“I always loved that old woman.”

“She loved you too.”

“I know she did. You guys actually in the room when she passed?”

“No. After ten days of my wife and her sister literally being there around the clock we decided that maybe she didn’t want to die while we were there. Turns out we were right.” I paused for a moment before saying, “I’ve gotta’ tell you, Eddie, I don’t understand the whole death thing, which is quite odd given my theological background. I mean, one minute you’re there, breathing, thinking, dreaming, planning; and the next...you’re gone.”

“It’s definitely a mystery.” He seemed to consider something before continuing. “Let me ask you something...do you think people fear death?”

“Without question,” came my immediate reply. “I think everyone fears death, and the ones who don’t are either lying through their teeth or are completely self-deceived.”

“So, you actually saw the body?”

I said, “We did. Everything was so still. Even the air in the room seemed still. Especially her. We’d been watching her breathe for so long all of us had moments where we swore she was still breathing.”

“Must’ve been a little spooky.”

“No, not spooky. It was, I don’t know, kind of sacred, I suppose.”

“How is your beloved taking the loss?”

I said, “Well, she’s obviously sad, but the stroke had left her mom so diminished, and with no chance of recovery, that when she finally died it was kind of a relief.”

“Everyone coming in for the memorial?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of like the gathering of the clan. People coming in from all over and—“

“Staying at your house,” he said, completing my sentence.

We both laughed.

“You know my family well.”

“Yeah, man. What you get for having a big ‘ol five bedroom house!”

“Well, needless to say, they’ll all be full.”

After a few seconds silence he said, “Wish I could be there, man. “

“I know. And, for the record, given your present circumstances no one expects you to make the trip. But the thought is definitely appreciated.”

His voice broke a little when he said, “Las Vegas will always be home, and you guys will always be my family.”

Since my throat seemed to be momentarily constricted, I said nothing.

He apparently suffered from the same affliction.

“So,” he said finally. “I’ve gotta run. Got an audition in ‘bout an hour. Could be a really good opportunity for me. One of those things that could launch me into a whole new stream of exposure.”

“Exposure is good.”

He was silent again before saying, “RG, I...”

“You don’t have to say it. I know...I know.”

“This won’t be forever.”

“And we’ll be here when you get back,” I said. “Might even come and see you in the spring.”

“That’d be cool. That’d definitely be cool.”

After a few more casual comments the call was over, and I was left feeling utterly bereft, beggared and bereaved, my emotions threatening to spin out of control.

I slugged down the remains of my rapidly cooling brew and quickly headed for the parking lot and the asylum offered by my car.

It just felt like so much loss—a reality of life with which I have always struggled.

A few deep breaths; a casual wave to a recently divorced friend who pulled their car into the spot right next to me; a glimpse of young mother holding tightly to a newborn; a frantic text from another friend who seemed to be in crisis; the elderly couple who arrive at the same time every morning, holding hands as if they were still in high school...and I realized that I was experiencing the cycles of life.

The thing about cycles is that...well, you have to let them run their course.

If you don’t, you short-circuit the process and never experience what you were meant to experience. 

After wiping away that pesky leakage around my eyes I started my car and drove home.

Gonna miss you, mom.