No Doubt

"Get in!" he says.

I hand him the cooler ... the chair ... the beach bag ... the Styrofoam cup full of beer ... and climb inside his van.

"Where you going?" he asks while leaning over to awkwardly hug me.

"Seriously?" I reply.

He laughs as only Samuel Adams, who plays damn good live music on Tybee Island whenever he feels like it, can.

It's a self-depreciating, having fun with himself while having fun with you, laugh.

Sam cracks me up when he laughs and it makes me laugh.

"13th," I say and he turns the van around to drive me the four blocks I would have walked to the beach.

"I think it's God's will that I found you like this," he says suddenly serious.

"Well then," I mumble sipping the beer, "then it must be."

"It is," he says stopping at the end of the street, in a shady spot where he illegally parks before awkwardly hugging me again before settling in for serious conversation.

Sam Adams has always been Tybee Island's coolest character.

Sure John O'Neill you're funnier ... Roma's more stately ... and Monty Parks is more electable ... but Sam's the coolest.

"What do you want?" I ask ready to hit the beach.

"God wants us to talk," he pronounces looking like a Saint getting ready to pray.

"Well Shit," I think to myself, "God normally talks through Sam ... according to Sam."

"What's God want us to talk about?" I ask.

"Us," he says with conviction.

"Shit!", I think to myself.

"I just want to go the beach," I confess.

"In a minute," he proclaims.

"Shit," I think really wanting to hit the beach but ... it's God talking so I remain in the van.

"It's time," he says.

"Tell me about it," I say taking another sip of beer, "there's not going to be a spot left on the beach if I don't get on out there."

He laughs again and it melts my heart, "No it's time for you to step up," he explains.

"Well," I say not knowing what to say.

"We've both known for a long time," he continues.

"Hmmm," I mumble watching the endless parade of families carry beach supplies over the crosswalk.

"Where you been?" I ask.

"Where I'm supposed to be," he says.

"Of course," I agree.

"We'll get together this week," he concludes.

"You never respond to a freaking text," I snap.

"Oh I will," he smiles.

And there comes a moment when you either believe ... or you don't.

You're full of faith or as empty as a dry dog dish.

"Alright," I say grabbing my cooler but Samuel grabs me instead giving me another awkward hug and I spill beer on myself.

"It's gonna be great," he says with his infectious smile.

"No doubt," I say grabbing my chair and heading to the beach.