Friendship
Farewell My Friend
On The Road Again-Destination Unknown
“Oh, Mother!
I was born to die soon; but Olympian Zeus the Thunderer
owes me some honor for it".
Homer
~~~
In the clinic, they say he died from a brain aneurysm. We met in foster care during our youth. He was one year younger than me. So he considered me his mentor. Even though we were jockeyed around from bad home to worse, we kept connected. A vow never broken.
Now, here I stand, looking at the bargain basement grave marker of the only friend I have ever had in my life. They even abbreviated the months. All I had to my name was 287 dollars. He absolutely would have done the same for me.
Jesse Waters — In Loving Memory
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Oct. 14, 1960 — Sept. 6, 1989
I crushed a cigarette under my boot. Never liked Winston. Marlboro Red Box is the smoke for a man. But beggars shouldn’t bitch; I bummed the smoke off one of the gravediggers.
A stranger in a long black coat appeared next to me, he looked and smelled like a hobo. Noticing I was the lone attendant at Jesse’s burial, he asked me if it was ok to say a few words for Jesse’s repose. I didn’t know how to respond. He mumbled some nonsense into a huge nicotine-stained mustache, then bowed respectfully. He may have expected me to give him some offering of thanks, but soon realized I was too traumatized to respond. As he gracefully retreated, I came to my senses to at least thank him for his words. I turned, but he disappeared, nowhere to be seen.
As I was leaving the cemetery I found one of the gravediggers, described who the stranger was. He stated that I was the only attendant and that the description I gave did not sound like anyone he’s seen.
He was one year younger than me. So he considered me his mentor.
Jesse left me his only belonging- a 1973 Plymouth Barracuda. It was not only his wheels, it was also his home. The trunk was packed with old clothes, gas can, shoe box full of baseball cards, a leather bag with wrenches, screwdrivers, channel lock and buck knife. In the glove compartment was a folded over Thomas guide map, roll of Life Savers, pack of Chiclets gum, car registration and a small two-shot .22 caliber derringer. As close as we were, he never told me about the gun. Another parting gift he left me was a full tank. Lost count of how many times we used shoe leather and his trusty gas can. We would run that baby dry, then scrounge enough change for an .86 cent gallon of gas. Recently has shot up to $1.17.
We were both parents as well as brothers to each other since never having met our biological parents. We loved each other, but not in that sense, because we were great lovers of women. Jesse had a way with the ladies, we could walk into any bar and he would not only attract the most beautiful girl, but he would have her find one for me, his brother.
As I drove away from the cemetery, I felt the wheels of the car hug the road, not only hug the road, but embrace it, as if they loved one another.
Where to? My mind was on automatic, neither thinking or feeling. Perhaps I will drive until it runs out of gas to see where I land. Yeah, that sounds like something Jesse would do.
I’m driving now, aimlessly. It doesn’t feel like a car though. I’m sailing a boat on the open sea with rolling waves in clear turquoise water, gliding effortlessly, totally at the whim of winds and currents, feeling confident that luck, fortune, a god or some force of nature will guide me to a land, a place where my dear friend and I were meant to be.
