Feeling a hand softly touching my back I stand upright over the meat counter at Tybee Market and see an old friend ... one of the first people I met when I moved on-island decades ago."Hey," I say and we hug as friends do.
Except she's frail and broken.
"How are you?" I ask putting the Hamburger Meat down.
Salt water wells in her eyes as she stares somewhere far beyond me.
Her voice cracks as she replies, "I miss him."
He died during the summer.
A regular at "Fannies-on-the-Beach," that's where we had his funeral.
Lot's of people toasted him while telling stories and his life was celebrated with laughter.
Now, a few days before Christmas, the laughter's died and the emptiness has set in.
Sometimes there are no words.
I hug her again.
"How's Sarah?" she asks wiping tears from her face.
"She's good," I answer. "Working hard and too much ... The girls are out in the car ... we've been at the Movies and I stopped to get stuff to make Chili."
The far away stare returns as ahe smiles and says, "That's nice."
"I just to thank you for everything you did," she announces staring straight at me.
"I haven't done shit," I answer. "What did I do?"
"You were his friend," she says in a voice that's soft and warm.
"You and Sarah gave us that van," she continues.
"No we didn't," I chide ... because we didn't ... we sold it to them for a dollar.
A sad, crooked smile cracks her face.
Then the words are all gone.
She has none.
I have none.
We embrace for a third time.
I rush outside to a car full of little girls excited to get home, knowing their Mother will soon be there, but as I pay I glance back at her.
She takes her time, looking at things she won't buy ... some of his favorite things I suspect ... because she's in no hurry to return to the silence of an empty home.
