|
Edited on Thu Mar-10-11 08:39 PM by mgc1961
If I correctly recall, I met James in 1987. He was a former Piedmont Airlines employee who'd joined my current employer as a customer service representative. He was four years older than me and a lifelong Tennessean who, though he lived only a few miles from his parents home might just as well been living on the other side of the world from them after they learned about his sexual orientation.
James independently studied Medieval manuscripts in college but left school before achieving an undergraduate degree after a dispute over his self-directed path. He spoke proficient French and had an outstanding English vocabulary that was a wonder to hear. His hobby was botany for which he sometimes traveled the world in search of additions to his collection of indoor plants. Indeed, he made a trip with a co-worker to Sumatra for one of his specimens.
At the time of our meeting, I was new to our common industry and attending graduate school in Medieval studies with the intent of learning more about the subject and consider the possibility of teaching as a vocation. What I learned, with the help of my instructors, is that the teaching profession wasn't for me.
Our mutual interest lead James and me to become good friends and we even took a short but memorable trip to Paris where I met a young woman from Chili with whom I spent an afternoon while James amused himself in the red light district of Paris.
Naturally, I took several pictures while I was in Paris and at Versailles, but James refused to knowingly be included in any of them. He was, for some unclear reason, very self-conscious about his appearance and didn't like his photo taken. It may have been partly due to his dislike for his Art Garfunkelish hair. He was also averse to having his voice recorded which he said screamed "queen!" I didn't think much about it, but I agreed not to take his picture. However, unbeknownst to either of us at the time, I inadvertently snapped a keepsake as he was crossing the street while I was photographing the front of Notre Dame cathedral.
In 1991, our employer discovered James' companion (Keith) was not in fact his brother-in-law who had been the recipient of some employee benefits to which, at the time, he was not entitled. James was fired on less than friendly terms.
I kept in touch with James after his employment ended. He updated me on the pond he was constructing in their front yard and we ran an odd errand or two.
One day, as we stopped lunch before I dropped James off at his house he told me he was sick. It was not an insignificant illness. Although he never uttered the medical term for his affliction, I knew from his tears what he meant. James valued his privacy and asked me not reveal his condition to anyone because, I suppose, he was embarrassed by even the thought of a fuss being made over him.
I think I saw James four more times before his passing. I went for chicken dinner one night after which we watched My Cousin Vinny and enjoyed a bowl of ice cream together. He seemed healthy. We talked about the plant collection in his basement and he gave me a seed from one of the plants in his collection to take home. ( I still have that plant.)
It became clear to me during my third visit that James was very ill. He was at home in a hospital bed upstairs. He'd lost vision in one eye and was somewhat incoherent during our conversation but he did his best to carry on.
Keith initiated my final visit. He called to tell me James wasn't long for this world. If I wanted to say goodbye now was probably a good time. He also told me that contrary to James' wishes, he thought it would be a good idea to tell his friends about his condition so that they might him with some warmth before his impending departure.
The hospital bed was now downstairs, in the living room, facing the window through which James could see his beloved pond and outdoor garden. James looked terrible beyond words. For lack of a better image, think of the liberation photos you've seen of the inmates in Nazi concentration camps. That was James' physical appearance. He was completely blind and using a medication dispenser by which he received timed doses of morphine.
We talked for just a few minutes, that was all he had in him. He did, fortunately, seem to know who I was. I suppose he recognized the sound of my voice. As I left for the final time, I placed my hand over his hand that rested on his stomach and softly said though my tears, "I love you." James replied, "I love you too."
Goodnight, friend.
|
Printer-friendly format
Email this thread to a friend
Bookmark this thread
(874 posts)
Send PM |
Profile |
Ignore
