I recently heard from Lee’s nephew, Andy, whom I don’t talk to often. Never have, even when Lee was alive. Don’t get me wrong, Andy is a nice fellow. He is married with two kids, has a career, is much younger than I am, and has his own life. Usually, if we talk, there is a reason.
His communication arrived via text, extending an invitation to come to his home to celebrate his son’s birthday. I hadn’t seen Andy in more than one year, and I estimated that it had been at least two since I last saw the boy. I replied promptly but it was non-committal.
If I’m honest, I felt ambivalent. On the one hand, I was certain I would know some of the folks I assumed would be present, mostly Andy’s family members or in-laws, of course, including Andy’s mom and dad, Paul and Joanne, who were visiting from Michigan, and with whom I maintain a loose friendship.
On the other hand, the party was slated to begin late on a splendid Saturday afternoon, and I knew Robyn wouldn’t want to go. I projected that the travel time might be up to twice the length of the visit itself due to the never-ending road construction. Also, I didn’t know the birthday boy very well, mostly from holidays or occasional family get-togethers. Based on my limited exposures, I recalled a nice-looking boy, tall for his age, who was socially awkward to the point of seeming to be a little “off.” Some of his adults used to make excuses for him, it seemed.
Now Andy, along with one of my nephews, is the co-executor of my estate. I asked Andy to assume this role not only because he and his brother are beneficiaries under my will, but also because Andy is an attorney. I’m glad that he agreed. However, that isn’t the reason that I eventually decided to attend the kid’s birthday party. Being an aging, unmarried, and childless widower, I need to stay connected.
***
Traffic was as congested and nearly as aggravating as I had anticipated. Fortunately, I opted for an overland route rather than the freeway. I knew this decision wouldn’t save much time, if any, and that the cross-town trip would be fraught due to numerous large potholes, courtesy of a poorly maintained and aging infrastructure, and the unpredictable tendencies of knucklehead drivers. I took a small comfort from the fact that I was avoiding certain bumper-to-bumper freeway traffic on boiling asphalt under a blazing sun.
Andy lives in a desirable suburb with which I‘m only vaguely familiar. There was ample street parking when I arrived. I thought, “even with a party in full swing, it’s still quiet around here,” and mentally compared this quiet street to the 24-hour din of the City.
I knocked on the front door. No one answered.
I let myself in the unlocked front door of the house, then passed through without encountering another soul. I exited the rear door and entered the backyard. There I heard Paul’s voice, then saw Joanne. They were seated not far from Andy, who was standing over his slow cooker, which was spewing smoke and a pleasant odor. He announced he was cooking pork.
It was great catching up with the three, but Paul seemed different, less exuberant perhaps, than I recalled. However, I didn’t pry. Andy’s wife and I spoke briefly. She was polite as always. I spent more time talking to members of her family.
Eventually, I asked Andy where the birthday boy was. He directed me to go back inside. In the kitchen, I saw Toby sporting shoulder-length hair. He was already taller than me (which really isn’t saying much).
I dutifully started making small talk with Toby, who surprised me by enthusiastically telling me about his involvement with the School of Rock, where he has been studying bass guitar. As a long-time guitarist, I opined authoritatively that good guitar players are dime a dozen, whereas bassists and drummers will always be in demand.
I wasn’t being condescending. I meant it.
“I want to play drums, too!” he exclaimed, whereupon we proceeded to have a good, long conversation about his life. Toby lit up as he brought me up to date.
Eventually, I started “working the room,” saying my goodbyes. Meanwhile, I could observe Toby tagging along, still talking animatedly about music or theater. His dad and grandparents noticed, and they seemed pleased.
Paul pulled out his phone and insisted on taking several pictures of me and Toby. I was happy to accommodate the impromptu photo shoot. In one photo, Toby warmly draped his arm over my shoulder. Although his gesture made me feel good, it was still time to go home.
