So they Tell Me

"Do you see how someone's going to die?"

"What?" I ask, tuning my guitar, checking the microphones, adjusting the sound and getting ready for whoever shows up.

"Can you tell how people are going to handle dying?" he replies, looking out the corner of his eye fumbling with cables.

Smirking at the oddball question, I shrug my shoulders and answer, "The same way they live."

It's his turn to ask, "What?"

Behind the Bar, Mary asks if I'm going anywhere because she needs to go get Bobbi so I nod as she hurries into the sunshine flooding the crowded sidewalk of a Sunday morning Beach town.

In the silence of the tavern, it's just he and me.

"I think people die like they live. If they are accepting people they'll likely accept the inevitable ... if they're always angry, they be pissed ... if they're confused they'll wonder what's going on ... if they don't care they won't start ... and if they're ready to try something different they're out of here quick, pretty excited about whatever's coming."

If a pin dropped we would have heard it.

In the silence I resume tuning my guitar.

"So, you're telling me ..." his voice trails off.

"Yeah, so as you live so shall you die."

"And you can see that?"

Putting the guitar in it's stand, I walk behind the bar to collect my thoughts and get something to drink.

People stick their heads in the doors propped open, "Y'all open?"

It's 9 am on a Sunday. The Bar's not open. It's just my friend helping me out because what I'm doing is over my head and he's knows things I don't know.

"No, we're getting ready for Church," I smile from behind the bar and they look confused, then appalled before hurrying away.

It makes us laugh.

Church isn't supposed to be in a Bar and a Bar should be open during Church but ... it's hard to discern the truth these days.

"But you know someone's going to die before they do and you can sort of see how it's going to happen?" he prods while making the sound system perfect.

"Hmmm," I mumble returning to my Bar Stool on the stage, "I really don't think about it," as I pick up my guitar and strum, "I mean I'm pretty zoned on how they're living right up until they die."

"But you know," he says standing to stare in my eyes.

Strumming the chords to "An Unclouded Day" I shrug ... "Yeah."

People meander in bringing baskets of food to spread on the Pool Table and greetings, hugs and laughter fill the empty Bar.

"Alright," he says, moving to the door, "the sound is good. Have a great service."

"Sure you don't want to stay?"

Smiling, he's gone.

"Oh they tell me of a home far beyond the skies," I sing, "Oh they tell me of a home far away ..."

So they tell me.

We'll see.

In the meantime, there's way more living to be done.