This Incredible Gift

I've long believed that more significant conversations about God occur in bars than in churches. Last night in Doc's Bar we had one as the guitar player sang at the other end of the room but we were oblivious to his songs. Sitting at a high top table sipping drinks we learned forward as we talked with an intensity uncommon here.

The 8 year old son of a close friend has been diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy.

"Why would God do that?" was the first question.

'There can't be a God when shit like this happens," was his frustrated and angry conclusion.

What does one say?

My mind raced back to college and Fran Janachec who had beautiful long black hair, olive skin, large brown eyes the size of moons and Muscular Dystrophy.

She carried her tiny lithe body on a bicycle built for two because she couldn't possibly peddle one by herself. If someone brushed her in the hall way she would topple over spilling her books and papers over the floor with grace and beauty as tears welled in her eyes.

I'd find her sitting there, students rushing by and bend over to pick her up, furious no one was helping her. Throwing her arm around my shoulder she would laugh and kiss my check and say, "Why yes. I'd love to dance."

I'd often find her lost in thought, staring at trees as though they held the secret to the universe.

"What'cha doing Fran?" I asked when I found her this way once.

She had this way of moving in slow motion as though she was dragging herself back from one world to another.

"Have  you ever noticed how many shades of green there are?" she finally said in response.

Looking at the cluster of trees I saw them as she did, an incredible array of colors all brilliantly different from each other. In that instant Fran taught me green.

We got shit faced drunk together once because she wanted to do it before she died and nobody would join her because they were afraid of hurting her, or were too Christian or they simply didn't care. We put on a Doobie Brothers album in her dorm room and popped the first beer. By the time the second side was done we were laughing uncontrollably at everything.

The last thing she wanted was to make love before she died. She finally did with this boy she kind of liked and told me all about it one afternoon in Landrum Hall.

"It was wonderful," she said in her beatific, slow motion, dream way.

"You crack me up," was my response.

And then she was gone.

The next semester, she didn't return and when I called her she told me it was for the best though she loved every single second of college, and the hours we'd spent together and the times I'd danced her to class when she fell to floor.

Then she died.

She'd was one of the most incredible gift of life I'd ever experienced and to this day she can make me cry.

Fran was again raised from the dead last night in Doc's in my heart and in my head. And it was her words that came out of my mouth as I replied to his questions.

"Life is this gift. We don't know how long we have it or how many we get to share it with so enjoy the hell out it. It doesn't last forever but God! ... what a thing it is ... when it's ours."