Larry

I found out at the listserve at work that my old friend died on Sunday. We had lost touch, but he is someone I have thought of, for some reason, regularly, even though I hadn't seen him in--can it really be?--ten years. I am feeling regretful--what else is new? I wish I could have seen Larry again before receiving the harsh news via email.

Before I lived with the dudes and animals who are now my family, I lived in a second-floor studio apartment in what was known as a dangerous part of town. A shelter and a methadone clinic were in the neighborhood, so, true, drugged up and hopeless souls would be out and about, but decent people also dwelled on the block, and aside from someone breaking into my car and stealing some old boots, I never had a problem. Larry lived in a little house across the street, and we happened to work at the same establishment too.

The biggest problem I seemed to have then was my own feelings of loneliness. I had my little job, which was ok, to go to, I had my apartment, an old 76 Dodge Dart, and a few friends. Larry was in his late sixties and had a strong Brooklyn accent, revealing his early upbringing in Bwookwyn. He had a rough demeanor, overweight and disheveled, was a heavy smoker whose speech was peppered with swear words, and also a slumlord who spent his savings buying delapidated properties and renting them out to the unfortunate. But he was a real person, a character, full of contradictions, and disinterested in pretending to be categorized a certain way. He knew most of Shakespeare's plays by heart, and he had an incredible singing voice, operatic.

We used to stand on the sidewalk and chat. Some weekends I would buy deli sandwiches for us and we would stand there and eat our sandwiches and talk about Shakespeare or gossip about people at our work. After my boyfriend became a fixture in my life, the three of us would hang out by the street and gab. Larry had in common with my boyfriend a willingness to talk to anyone about anything.

After a few years of not being lonely anymore, the boyfriend and I decided to build a house and get married. Then we started having babies, and our first baby died. Baffled, devastated, having just given birth, I ended up planning a memorial service for the baby Emil. I wanted everyone to come and invited anyone I could think of. (Wow, I was so intense and emotional during that time, I have not thought of this in a while.) So Larry showed up at the graveside memorial, and he bawled during most of it. There was a moment in which the people there could say something about the deceased, whom nobody had known, and Larry sniffled a bit and started singing. He sang this beautiful aria that broke through my cloud of numbness like a silver arrow. It was a good song. He was a kind friend.

Soon after that Larry retired, he and I both moved away, and we chatted on the phone a few times. We said we would get together for coffee real soon.

Rest in peace.