words are just the final step...

That was always the line 'Thomas' used when 'Alvin' wanted him to get up and away from the blank piece of paper on the desk.

"Writing is a process. Words are just the final step." 

 

I can attest to that.

Most of my posts are actually written a day, or two, or more, after the date on which they are published here on my beach.

Sometimes it's because I have too much going on, so the recording of the event and my thoughts on it have to wait for me to sit a spell.

More often, though, it's a matter of me waiting for my mind to let me know that it's processed what happened and is ready to set pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, so to speak.

That's the way I've always written, though.

No drafts, just straight into it.

I had nearly been late to this musical because I'd been writing, in fact.

That was yesterday evening, after a full day of no SMF36 volunteering.

I'd spent a few hours writing about the jazz performance, then launched into the pop-up pieces, first and second, having found the combining theme.

I do love a good theme.

(smile!)

I've actually watched all of "The Story Of My Life" twice now.

I'd been tagged by Heidi Hoffman to volunteer for the matinee performance today and I had agreed gratefully.

I've been trying to be more involved at Asbury Memorial Church and helping out with theatrical performances seems to be my niche.

My initial plan had been to stay for thirty minutes or so and then head over to Mickve Israel for "Freedom Song", a musical about drug addiction, performed by addicts.

I knew I'd be able to relate to that type of story.

My thought was that I would have plenty of time between that show and my evening gig at the Lucas to find a parking place in the middle.

 

However, that was before the rain came a day early.

Make that "rains", with a plural.

Once it began around 2:30 PM, it persisted until well after 7 PM, making for lots of soggy umbrellas all around.

So, rather than chance getting soaked and having to serve at the SMF36 in wet clothes, I stayed to see all of this musical again.

 

Last night, I sat with family, so that defused the emotional impact somewhat.

Jean and John Hester were there, with my niece Molly, who is living and working in Atlanta as an accountant, following in her Pop Frank's footsteps.

I had still cried at the end, but not like I did this afternoon.

Last night, the drifting away of the 'togetherness' of the two best friends had reminded me of Sam Johnson and Bob Wiley.

If not for 'Mom' Wiley, Sam would have taken his leave of Bob, as Sam believed he had outgrown that friendship years ago.

But he didn't want to lose that mother surrogate from his life, so he stayed.

Sam told me that the night he died.

Of course, I never, ever, told Bob.

He wears a Superman tattoo now, in Sam's memory, as do several others.

I wonder if Bob has gotten a tattoo for his mom as well.

The impact on me was different today.

 

My volunteer position had been in the sanctuary, so I remained in the narthex after the musical began, in view of Mark and Ray the whole time.

That meant they were in my view the whole time, too - my unobstructed view, with no heads in front of me, no one beside me.

The songs painted the picture of their friendship, starting with first-grade.

Their teacher had paired them up after the Halloween costume party, when 'Thomas' dressed as 'Clarence the angel' from "It's A Wonderful Life"... and 'Alvin' dressed as his dead mother's ghost, wearing her bathrobe, slippers, and hair curlers.

"It's A Wonderful Life" had been her favorite movie.

I admit to a definite fondness for that holiday story myself.

So, back to the play, where 'Thomas' becomes best friends with the boy whose father runs the local bookstore, a magical place that became even more so when it helped 'Alvin' select the Christmas present for 'Thomas' five years later, when they were 11 years old.

That book had been "The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer", the very thing that the angel had been clutching in the holiday movie, the one thing missing from the Halloween costume 'Thomas' had wore when he and 'Alvin' first became friends.

Ah, such a touching moment!

That book would actually lead to the demise of their friendship.

After reading that, 'Thomas' determined he wanted to be an author, so his words could live on long after his death... but what to write?

So, he crafted a tale, "The Butterfly", out of fragments of an afternoon spent with 'Alvin' chasing a butterfly by the river, back when they were 14 years old, about to start high school, when 'Thomas' had discovered the allure of girls... and realized that his best friend was too odd to not get pummeled by older boys.

That tale got him accepted in college, and off he went, leaving 'Alvin' behind, running his dad's shop, just as 'George Bailey' had to do.

And, now, 'Thomas' had to give the eulogy for 'Alvin', who had died in the frozen river just a week after 'Alvin' had given the eulogy for his dad.

So much guilt 'Thomas' had, so many unanswered questions about 'Alvin's' death.

Was it suicide?

Had 'Thomas' cancellation of their plans in the city caused it?

How could he have not known his friend was in such distress?

So much guilt.

And I found myself crying for Christa and wondering how I hadn't known that she had become diabetic and needed medical help.

And I found myself crying for Barbara and wondering how I hadn't known that she had decided to stay with suicidal Kal, who she knew had a gun.

And I found myself crying for David, dead by suicide

And I found myself crying for Jean Marie, dead by suicide.

And I found myself crying for Laura, whose stepbrother, Chris, just died by suicide.

All dead by gunshot, except Christa.

And I found myself crying...

wiping my tears on my shirt sleeves...

with a hard rain falling outside.

Very appropriate.
Thanks, Candace and Randy, for hugs and looking out for me.

i thank You, God, I had other volunteer responsibilities after this show.