Jilda and I were playing the last couple of songs in our set on Saturday night when two guys rumbled up outside Berkeley Bob’s on motorcycles. When they dismounted I figured they would head for a bar down the street, but they walked into the coffee house. One of the riders was carrying a guitar case.
He gently placed the case by a table and stepped up to the barista to order coffee for himself and his friend. After ordering he leaned against the counter and listened intently as Jilda launched into our closing song.. I kept looking at him…then a flicker of recognition came across my brain and the story fell into place.
The biker was my old friend Carl. We had worked together at MaBell for years before I became unjobbed. He’d put on a bit of weight, his hair had grown down to his shoulders and he had grown a beard, but I knew it was Carl. He smiled when he saw I had recognized him.
Carl and I were close friends at Bell. We had breakfast together every morning and had solved most of the world’s problems by 7:20 before hitting the data center floor running. All the thoughts of those good times came back to me as we played our last guitar chord.
As soon as we finished, I rushed to the edge of the stage to hug my old friend.
So many fond memories washed over my mind as we stood there taking stock of each other. But the good times were overshadowed by the memory of the last time I had seen him three years ago.
It was at a funeral home and he’d lost his only child Adam in an automobile accident at the age of 24.
My nature is to try and find words of comfort, but I had no point of reference and so Jilda and I just stood with him in silence…his naturally booming voice reduced to a whisper of grief choked words. Few times in my life have I seen that much pain.
I had known Adam since he was in grade school. When he was around 12, he wanted to play guitar. Carl bought him a guitar, and after work I would stay a couple of times each week and teach Adam chords and picking techniques.
He was a sponge, soaking everything up I taught him and soon he was playing any song he wanted to play. He loved music.
After we finished our show Carl stuck around and helped us load sound equipment. When we finished, he stepped over to the table, picked up Adam’s guitar and handed it to me.
“I want you to have to this. You can keep it or give it to another kid who wants to play.” He said. It was too painful for him to even open the case, but I knew in his heart giving me the guitar completed a circle for him.
We hugged and parted ways and promised we would be in touch. I swore that I would do something to honor Adam’s memory.
