Thank You Doctor

You know when you get the call?

"Hey," they always say, "calling with bad news. You probably already know because you're techno savvy but she's died."

It's always a bit of a kick in the stomach followed by a long, slow exhale.

Sometimes it's followed by instant sobbing and overwhelming emotion.

Often, the most basic prayer ... "Oh God" ... is said before these other things.

She ... is Dr. Diana Garland ... my professor in Seminary ... who I once kidnapped, taking her to a Gay bar during the early days of AIDS ... meeting up with three fellow male students ... and we drank beers, ate good food and introduced her to friends she would have never otherwise met.

I remember she was frightened the people at the Seminary ... the ones who wrote her check each week ... would find out.

"Please never mention this to anyone," she said as I left her out safely on campus.

I drove her crazy and somewhere there's a letter she wrote me saying as much.

"You cannot be a Liberation Theologian in a Baptist Seminary," she scolded.

"Why?" I fire full of righteous indignation.

When my first book, "The Society of Salty Saints" was published she called it "a sweet little testimony."

When I got in trouble with Southern Baptist Corporate Headquarters ... for committing lots of sins while employed as a "Professional Christian" ... she took their side ... which was the right side if you're going to remain a Baptist ... because there was no question I'm committing sins left and right.

And that was it.

I went away ... finding the beach and a roller coaster life.

She went away ... back home to Texas ... and Baylor University ... to raise her family ... teach the things she believed ... and die.

Somewhere in there, we had one final exchange.

"I was always proud of you," she wrote. "You drove us crazy but you ... I don't know ... you were you ... you were special."

That was a long time ago.

Today I receive the call and Diana's left her husband David and her kids and gone to ... Heaven knows where.

But as you're going away I want to say "Thanks."

You drove me crazy too.

You taught me a lot ... mostly about myself ... and I'm doing the best I can with it.

So today ... just like that one in the Gay Bar all those years ago ... during the height of the AIDS epidemic ... you, three other guys and me toasted and laughed.

Today it's just me toasting because you all are gone.

And I know ... I don't know how I know ... but I do ... God's got you ... and them ... and us too ... now.

An unwanted meeting

"Why come you don't write about me anymore," she slurs, spitting a loogy over the deck, takes a drag from her cigarette and chases with a tall boy PBR and a shot of bourbon.

"Why come?" I ask laughingly.

"Yeah ... why come you don't write about me anymore either?"

It's my drunken bicycle who's been pretty upright for the last few years.

"Screw off," my Guardian Angel says flipping him off with one hand while pulling her dirty robe back over her shoulder to cover her exposed right breast.

"Ruff," Winston The Little Gay Dog barks in his high pitched voice ... wearing a black sweater vest with pink letters ... reading ... "3 words to save the American Economy: GAY BRIDAL REGISTRATION!"

"Shut up," I say.

"Here Kitty! Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!" the Cat Lady screeches from next door. "Dammit Micheal! You don't write about me anymore either."

"Oh for Christ's sake," I mutter.

"I didn't like the way you handled my death," says the neighbor who used to garden in her underwear. "You could have done much better."

"You're dead," I reply. "Why are you here?"

Smiling she answers, "Haunting's in my future."

"You don't get new panties in Heaven?" I ask which pisses her off so she tries to call the Tybee Police on our dogs but hasn't mastered cell phones yet.

"Who in the Hell are all these people?" my Guardian Angel demands crushing out her cigarette on the kitchen table.

"Figments of my imagination," I grin.

"TO HELL WE ARE!" they screech in unison.

My left foot is suddenly warmer than the right one and looking down Winston, TLGD, is peeing on it.

"Listen," my drunken bicycle slurs, "don't you forget that we're the ones who made you what you are today?"

"What's that?" I ask suddenly interested.

They all look at each other searching for an answer.

"GET OUT!" I yell.

Everyone disappears except  my Guardian Angel ... who hands me a beer and smiles, "You can't do that with me."

"Ruff," Winston, TLGD, barks in his pitched voice.

Apparently I can't do it with him either.