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| BURNED INTO MY MIND |
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It was a bright, warm Sunday afternoon. The boys were taking a nap and Mama was watching an old movie. I was in the driveway washing the family sedan. I was in the middle of drying it with my old, ragged chamois when out of the corner of my eye I saw Ol' Roy open his kitchen door and gently call out my name. I turned the rest of the way around to be able to see the entire picture and when I did, Roy spoke softly, but clearly, "Could I talk to you for a bit?" I responded that I could, dropped the chamois and strolled over to Roy's house, a mere 65 feet away. When I got there I could see that he was tired and that he was struggling to stay as alert as I, and other denizens of the neighborhood were wont to see him. He handed me a pencil and paper and simply said, "I know that I can trust you to do a couple things for me. Tomorrow I have to be at the hospital by 10:00 AM. I have an idea that they will commit me there. I don't know if I will get out alive. I would like you to contact some people who should know what is going on." I acquiesced with no perceptible verbal response, but my body language told Roy all he had to know. In the language of professional drivers, I was ready to write. Roy proceeded to tell me the name and the contact information of his son, an airline pilot, by the way; his daughter, a very dedicated housewife and mother. "Don't ask son to contact her, cuz he won't." He then wanted me list a couple of his friends, whom I knew from visits that they made to his house to "throw back a few" as we used to say. The directions were coming in a smooth flowing, calm voice, so I didn't say anything as I was writing all this down. Of a sudden, a little hitch in his throat caught my attention. I looked up and saw that he had turned a little embarrassed, but I knew not why. He quickly recovered and after a peremptory apology asked, "Do you think Belle could drive me to the hospital? I don't think I could make it and I don't want to leave my car there anyway." I, never one to be shy when volunteering the Voice from the Kitchen, assured the man that she would be more than happy to render this simplest of favors. He thanked me and then he stopped talking. During the pause, which I could tell was going to be significant, I dared to inject myself into his private affairs and asked,
"What about your wife?"
"Whaddya mean"?
"She still alive?"
"Yeah."
"Well, aren't you going to tell her about what's going on?"
"She don't have to know. 'Sides, she don't care anyhow."
"How do you know?"
"She never calls me."
"You call her?"
"Hell no!" Lots of energy there.
"Well, Roy, I personally think that I should call her."
"What for?"
"Well, for one thing, I bet that it would make you feel better."
"Ya do?"
"I do. In fact, I don't think, I know."
"Well, then, call 'er."
"You got a number?"
"Oh, yeah. Just a sec." Disappearing act into the bedroom. Shuffling noises, sliding drawer,pages being turned, silence.
"Found it. Here, ya kin try that."
"Thanks Roy."
"It won't matter none, she don't care."
"Hmm. By the way, when do you want me to make these phone calls?"
"Tomorrow evening will be OK. Not too late though because the kids are in the Midwest. The boy may come cuz he's a pilot. She may or may not come."
"Roy, in case something happens, do you have any important papers that I should know about so that none of your stuff gets into the wrong hands?"
"Good thought. Yeah. Just a sec." No disappearing act this time. He turned around, opened the over door and there inside the rusty, rotted-out cave in the stove lay a brown 9 x 12 envelope, puffed up a bit in the middle, but not sealed.
"Give this to the boy. He's smart about stuff, so he can figure this out."
"OK. Hmm, Roy, what do I tell these people?"
"You think of everything."
"Well-ll, not really, but it would be nice if you were to give me an idea of what the occasion is."
"The leukemia that I've been fighting for the last 6 or 7 years is about to win the battle."
"Aahh, OK. So do I tell them that?"
"Well, my two friends know, but the rest of them don't. Yeah, go ahead and tell 'em."
"Roy, can I ask another question?"
"You just did."
Low chuckles and smiles for a few seconds.
"Are you thinking of locking the place up while you're gone?"
"Yeah. You do think of everything. I'll give the keys to Belle tomorrow. Give them to the boy."
"Roy, thank you for the opportunity to help you. I hope that your transition goes smoothly."
"Ya know, I knew I could trust you. You're a lot better at this dying stuff than I am."
I never saw Roy again. He died 6 days later.
Based on Roy's evaluation, there is to be no crying at my funeral.
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