AUTHOR’S NOTE: I had nothing planned for my blog. But yesterday material for a new post literally knocked on my front door. And I just had to share it.
Yesterday an old fishing buddy stopped by. What I received was not a cordial hand shake. While busily chewing off huge chunks of my posterior I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.
His greeting was as follows, leaving out his colorful adjectives:
“Don’t you hi Amos me!,” he bellowed, refusing my hand shake. “In all the years I’ve known you I thought you were a thoughtful and caring person. Obviously I was wrong!”
“What?” I pinched in between tirades.
“As long as you and I have known Bob as a friend you would think the least you could have did was go to his memorial!”
“Memorial for what?” I interjected, my mind swimming. I had never seen Amos so angry, much less at me.
He looked at me in disbelief. “What do ya mean, memorial for what? Memorial for being dead! Not only did I think you’d be there, but I actually thought that you might be kind enough to get up on the podium and say a few words about him. But don’t worry your selfish little mind. I got up and spoke for both of us.”
“Are you talking about our fishing buddy, Bob?”
“What the hell other Bob would I be talking about?” he gasped in disbelief.
“I just saw him two days ago!” I shot back, my confusion being replaced with a touch of irritation.
“Yeah, right!” Amos spat. “His name was in the obituaries four days ago. Obviously you were talking to a ghost.” He then looked off in frustration.
“No, Bob Dillburn.”
“Amos,” I replied, “Bob’s last name is Hillburn, not Dillburn.”
Amos was silent for a long moment. “Are you sure?” he finally said, his voice a little calmer.
“I’m positive. Bob isn’t dead! I’ll call him right now if you’d like.”
“Oh,” Amos weakly replied. “I guess that answers a couple things.”
“I was wondering why I didn’t recognize anyone at the memorial. And the audience did look a little confused when I was on the podium and said how much he loved bass fishing.”
“You what?” I said, the amusement of the moment bringing a growing smile to my face.
Amos’ eyes were now darting and nervous, looking anywhere but at me. He then meekly added, “And there were a few mouths that dropped when I mentioned how much he enjoyed chasing the women.”
Yep, my dear old Amos had not only attended a total stranger’s memorial, he stepped up to the microphone, revealing memories of a person twenty miles away and very much alive….