Thursday, July 28, 2005

If You're Lactose Intolerant, Read No Further

No self-respecting director would allow a scriptwriter to get by with such a moment had it happened on stage or screen. But it didn't.

Six of us were driving home to Houston after three whirlwind days of travel, family, food, and enduring one another's idiosyncrisies and just plain old irritating habits. Conversation had stopped hours earlier and the sounds of James Taylor were entertaining us as the miles seemed to slowly click by.

"When you're down and troubled . . ." we began to sing along.

"You just call out my name . . . " we started adding hand motions as our volume swelled.

"You've got a friend . . . " and tears entered the scene.

My tears flowed from want, weariness, and joy. "S" was my co-pilot as I maneuvered through the Texas twists and turns of Highway 59. He had also been the source of pure pleasure for me a day earlier as he offered up a joke fest for my twin and his two teenaged daughters. Pure, belly-shaking, tear-wiping laughter was a frequent "guest" at my family gatherings in our early adult years but its sound had waned when my older brother, the silliest man I ever knew until "S" came along, died. He didn't take the laughter with him, but it was slightly subdued. Yet on this day, with one after another of the best/worst "a __________ walked into a bar" stories you can imagine, Bart was somehow present once again. Having never truly connected with my twin the way I sometimes wanted, those "hehehe's" were treasures to me. We laughed, we cried, it became a part of us.

As the road and James prompted reflection, I knew it was cheesey but I felt the gratitude swelling and let the tears come.

1 comment:

Baby said...

OH, Cheesy, boy I can be slow...