When my eyes fill with tears again, she clucks her tongue. “Aw, honey.” She puts an arm around my shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to get through this.” Then she shakes her head. “Damn. I ended up giving you platitudes anyway, didn’t I?”
I don’t have time to answer. The front door opens, and the mourners start arriving, each dressed in a flannel shirt, until the bar fills up with what looks like a convention of loggers.
I smile. Cash would have loved this.
There’s Eva and some army guys from Luc and Cash’s old unit. There’s Earl and a few folks who got to know Cash during the hurricane party, including Lauren and her little sister, Kelsey. There’s Scarlet and Auntie June. And might I say that Aunt Bea canrocka flannel? She’s paired a pink-and-gray shirt with black jeans, ankle boots, and a slim belt. What looks casual and sloppy on other people, she manages to make look couture.
I love her to pieces for joining in. Especially since I know she’s used to vintage Gucci and custom Chanel.
I wait a few minutes for everyone to arrive, and then I call the crowd to order. After thanking everyone for coming, I start pouring shots of Gentleman Jack and tell folks how this memorial will work.
“Cash wasn’t one for dirges and sober mourning. He was more about dirty jokes and living life to the fullest. So I invite anyone who wants to say a word about him, or tell a story about him, to do so. Today isn’t about grieving his death. It’s about celebrating his life. And the only rule is, after you get done saying your word or telling your story, you have to come to the bar and take a shot.”
There’s some laughter from the crowd and some nods of appreciation. Not surprisingly, it’s the army guys who line up first to talk about Cash. I stay behind the bar and cry as one by one they talk about how brave he was, how he saved each of them at one time or another, and then they come by, toss back a shot, and slam the empty glass upside down on the bar.
The last of his former teammates steps in front of the stage. He’s big and bulky, with a shocking amount of flaming-red hair. When he talks, his Carolina accent is thick.
“Everyone’s already said what an amazin’ soldier Cash was, despite his bad habit of questionin’ orders.” He looks at Luc, who smiles and shakes his head. “I’m here to say that he came by both things, the soldiering and the bein’ a pain in the ass, naturally. See, I was lucky enough to go through basic with Cash, and I was there the day he mouthed off to our drill sergeant. Ol’ Sergeant Wiley knew by then that the usual punishments didn’t work on Cash. So he went to the broom closet and came out with a long-handled broom. He handed it to Cash and told him to go sweep all the rain off the sidewalk in front of our barracks. But here’s the funny part. It was comin’ down cats and dogs.”
I look to Luc to see if he remembers this and find his chest quaking with suppressed laughter. Yeah, he remembers. And it’s so good to see something other than sadness in him.
“Cash swept and swept,” the man continues. “He was out there all damn day long until the rain finally let up around chow time that night. When he came in, lookin’ like a drowned rat, barely able to lift his arms, I saw Ol’ Sergeant Wiley smilin’. Not in ameanway, but in an affectionate way. HelikedCash. And far as I could figure, he didn’t like anyone. But that’s my point. No matter how mad Cash could get you, and he could get you plenty mad, you couldn’t help but love him. And I’m here to tell ya my life is better for havin’ known him.”
Auntie June tells a story about the time Cash was helping her in the garden and got stung on the lip by a bee. “His mouth swelled up until he looked like Angelina Jolie, but that didn’t stop him from sticking with me until the bitter end. I always thought he was a good boy, and the good Lord knows he grew into a good man. I’ll never understand why He saw fit to take Cash so young. Especially because the world’s a little smaller, a little darker without him.”
A few others get up—Helene, Vee, even Aunt Bea. Then, when it looks like everyone’s said what they came to say, Luc makes his way to the stage. He reads a poem he wrote about Cash. About their friendship. Their brotherhood. About his love and his loss.
I’ve kept it together pretty good through it all, but Luc’s poem strikes at the heart of me. By the time he’s finished and thrown back his shot, there’s not a dry eye in the room. But I’m definitely the worst of the lot. I’m blubbering like a baby.
I labored for hours yesterday and this morning over what I would say about Cash, writing speech after speech and tossing all of them away. But finally, about two hours ago, the words came to me, and I scribbled them down on a piece of paper that I shoved in my pocket.
I should reach for it now. It’s my turn to talk.
But I can’t.
It hurts too much.
Instead, I lift a shot and, through my tears, say, “I loved him. It’s as easy and as hard as that. Here’s to Cash.” Then I toss the whiskey to the back of my throat, the burn of the liquor matching the burn of my tears.
Jean-Pierre cues up the playlist, and Coldplay issues through the speakers, singing “Viva La Vida.” Literally translated, it meansthe life lives, and that seems right.
Cash may be gone. But his lifeliveswithin each of us.
“Bar and buffet are open!” Jean-Pierre calls, taking over hosting duties. He can see I’m in no shape. The sounds of chair legs scraping against the floor and a dozen conversations immediately fill the room.
I manage a watery, “Thank you,” to Jean-Pierre and then look for Luc. He’s surrounded by his army buddies up by the stage, but his eyes meet mine in an instant.
He has this sixth sense when it comes to me. He always knows when I’m watching him.
I motion that I’m going to head out back for a while. Sometimes a little peace and quiet is just what the doctor ordered.
You want me to come?his eyes ask.
No.I shake my head.
I love you,he mouths.
Closing my eyes and placing a hand over my heart, I let those words sink in. Sink past the hurt and the grief to the part of me that isn’t so tender and sore. To the part of me that’s his, only his. Then I open my eyes, smile tremulously, and mouth,I love you too.
