Sitting in the back seat of the rental car we bounced down the sun baked roads of the Los Monjos neighborhood of San Juan on our way to "Inicative Communitara". My I-phone buzzed and it was Johnny O. I asked him what was up as I bounced because Jim Withers was determined to hit every single pothole he passed and San Juan has many.
"It's bad news," he said in a voice that I rarely hear ... serious and with emotion ... "Trolley Joe died."
"Shit!" I exclaimed staring out of the window at the white concrete Carribean buildings that go on for miles and miles.
"When you coming back?" John continued.
"Friday."
"OK ...," he sighed. "Fuck this! and he hung up"
"Yeah ..." I softely said into the phone holding it against my chin.
Jim was staring at me in the rearview mirror and the man is already a dangerous driver. I told him what had happened and he returned to staring in the direction of where we were headed.
Joe was a member of the Bored ... the daily collection of friends to celebrate life on Tybee Island. For years we have gathered on the Pier, in front of Fannies-On-the-Beach, and increasingly at Marlin Monroes on Sunday afternoons. We pretty much raise drinks to the ocean and make fun of most everything. But ... we're also really good friends who have helped one another get through dark and difficult times.
When I found myself suddenly single a couple of years ago, Joe would put his arm around me and make me take down the sidewalk with him. He'd tell me his story of survival and new love. Then he'd tell me it going to be ok and that he loves me.
This is the same man who actually drove trolly tours in downtown Savannah and when he would see me walking down the sidewalk rushing to a meeting would stop the tour full of people, reach out and shake my hand, then announce over the speaker who I am. He did this repeatedly ... whenever he saw me.
Once he stopped a tour in front of Union Mission to take a picture of the sign in front of my old parking place. The sign was a gift from people who used to work with me and it marked my spot and had my name on it. The leadership put duct tape over name and Joe decided the rest of the world needed to know this ... so he took the picture, posted it on Face Book with the caption ... 'What happens to Has-Beens."
He also read everything I write and would me know what he thought ... often by taking playful issue with things. "You know that it was your Mother who redid your Backyard and you claimed the credit! I can't beleive you!" Then he turn his back to me.
Then he delighted over the last several months as I came back to life and love graced me. On Saturday he strolled up and hugged me and prounounced blessing on the way things are going in my life.
It was all good.
Life is a gift each of us share but none of us asked for. We share with one another if we're lucky. That's the thing though ... you never know how long gifts last. Our own gift of life or how long others are going to share theirs with us. There is just now. So we only have now to celebrate what we have.
So yesterday at the Bored and in Kansas City and in San Juan we all raised glasses to our dear friend Trolly Joe. What a gift. We'll still be celebrating it for a long time to come.
As long as we have gifts to celebrate.
