Tuesday, April 29, 2014


When I moved back home after college, I hung out with him. He was my brother's friend, possibly his best friend, but my brother was in Atlanta, so I guess he was looking out for his partner's younger sibling. It is that kind of town.

We used to eat at this restaurant. We'd walk in passing the hostess, to whom he would give a nod, and just choose a table and have a seat. Before long, the head chef would emerge from the back and welcome him as though he was the owner, although he was not. We'd laugh and talk, and the chef would ask what he was having. Inevitably he say "Surprise me," in a bright voice that was reminiscent of Southern Gentleman of some refinement, which I guess he was. Shortly thereafter, food would emerge, piping hot from the kitchen and we would eat. At the end of the meal he would have find someone to pay on occasion, as no one would accept payment for the food and alcohol of which we would have indulged. We were treated like that a number of places.

This was almost twenty years ago. He eventually got married, had children, life was good, the cotton was high, and people were just good folks waiting to happen.  

Lately he'd been going through some things.

Last Sunday he was found dead.

I will remember the good times, the jokes, the grand plans and the food. The rest will fade shortly, as time has a tendency to erase those memories of moments of weakness that diminish a good soul.

It is my hope that he finds peace.

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