My close friendships with Eric and Bob go back to our high school days. We have remained so throughout these many years, despite the changes in our respective personal circumstances that inevitably occur over the course of a lifetime: wives and girlfriends, children and grandchildren, jobs and careers, and health being chief among these.
The friendships have endured. We remain tied at the hip by our idiosyncratic speech, a common vernacular, which includes our shared musical tastes, and many shared experiences and common memories, albeit experiences and memories that are colored by our unique, individual perspectives.
***
Bob moved around more often and had more jobs than most of the rest of us. He eventually settled down for good in Ohio, where his first wife died young after they had managed to endure through tumultuous times together and apart; where, as a single dad, he had managed to raise a beautiful teenage daughter who grew up to be a beautiful woman, a successful business executive and a mother in her own right; where Bob met Linda, his loving and supportive wife; where he built a respectable career in the business community until his retirement a few years back, where, since retiring, he devoted himself to the happiness of his growing and extended family, and where it now appears he will experience his death.
Bob has been battling various types of cancer for several years. I have kept close track from afar, Eric, too, though perhaps to a lesser degree. Lee and Linda met through Bob and me and, despite the distances, quickly became best friends, accounting for my heightened involvement. Since Lee died, my own friendship with Linda has taken on greater prominence while Bob’s health gradually has been deteriorating.
A couple weeks ago Linda called me to express her concerns after getting bad news that Bob’s cancer has reappeared and spread, revealing that his long -term prognosis is not favorable. Separately, Bob confided that he was seriously considering not bothering with further medical treatment, being tired of the endless battle and nearly resolved to call it a day. We would have had to respect this personal choice. Truth is, I was happier when he decided to enter treatment as it signaled a strong will to live.
Nonetheless, when Linda called me to suggest it might be a good idea for us to pay them a visit, I viewed this as an informed directive, and not a mere suggestion. I duly informed Eric. Then we waited to hear back from Linda that it was time. She called me week before last.
***
Eric met up with me at the palatial Indiana estate better known to some as Deer Tick Manor, where I had spent the previous day and night attending to business. We departed mid-morning. While shaving one and one-half hours off a trip originating from our home city, the drive is still a slough, even with mid-week traffic being relatively light. I am an aggressive driver and notorious lead-foot behind the wheel, meanwhile, Eric drives like the proverbial little old lady (aways staying to the right) and has ever since he was among the first of us to get a driver’s license at the tender age of sixteen.
I drove. Eric grumbled about my reckless driving all the way to Ohio.
I’ve neglected to ask Eric about his first impressions, but to my eyes Bob looked older and seemed ground down since our last visit together this past Winter. His physical appearance and affect was understandable, I supposed, given he had just completed onerous radiation and the first of five or six toxic chemo infusions. Although Bob didn’t look healthy to me, I said nothing.
Ordinarily, the three friends would have adjourned to Bob’s basement studio, cranked up the guitars to “11,” shaken our tambourines and caterwauled into the wee hours. On this visit, however, the guitars remained in their cases, no tambourines were shaken, and thankfully, perhaps, there was no caterwauling. Bob hadn’t the energy. I wondered whether we already might have enjoyed our last jam together, a thought that still makes me a little sad as I write about it.
Bob reported he hadn’t been able to sleep much recently, perhaps a byproduct of the powerful steroids his doctors had administered to reduce signs of swelling in his brain. He complained that he had been experiencing persistent and localized physical discomfort for more than one month but that his medical team so far had not identified the cause.
Hearing Bob made me think about Lee, who had complained to me for several months before the end that she was suffering discomfort and pain in her stomach, which no one on her medical team seemed particularly concerned about or capable of managing. Then one day, just two or three weeks before she died, we were informed that Lee’s cancer had spread to virtually every organ within the general vicinity of her stomach. Hearing Bob now, I say nothing.
***
Indeed, in addition to appearing wan, Bob seemed lethargic, even a bit remote. Yet, as Linda had accurately predicted, it turned out that Eric and I were just the tonic to improve Bob’s spirits.
Soon enough we were talking and reminiscing. We treated ourselves to Bob’s favorite pizza, which I had carried from home, frozen, topped off with a variety of frosted cupcakes, a delicious surprise that Linda had managed to snag from her favorite local bakery early the morning of our departure.
After supper, we moved the “party” outside to a backyard fire pit. As the sun set the fireflies emerged, rising from the grass and garden to sparkle against the dark green of the trees. We settled quietly into our lawn chairs, content to watch the flames and fireflies. Occasionally our relative silence would be broken by impromptu a capella renderings of some of the musical standbys, inspired by something that somebody said, any throwaway line seemingly capable of unlocking an associated musical memory from the deep recesses of one of our brains. Then the other two friends would jump in to complete the familiar line or stanza.
Meanwhile, Linda from her chair entertained Lola the pup with a game of fetch involving a stick. Again and again, the indefatigable Lola dashed off into the darkness, only to bring her stick back to Linda. Later, back inside the house, we boys argued about sports and politics and business while Linda sat quietly observing her husband, wearing a slight smile.
Over a generous cocktail and a little reefer, I believe we three managed to solve many of the world’s more pressing problems. And, except for the fact we were three old men, who went to bed very early that night, at least for a little while it felt like old times.