THE SO-CLAMORED-FOR TALE - DINNER WITH EDDIE

There was a knock at the door, and Eddie received a little tray covered with a towel.

“Hey Jean-Paul, you hungry? The nice lady always brings me a little something on Thursday nights. Tonight she made biscuits and gravy. Why don’t you join me for dinner?”

I was dumbstruck. Eddie was clearly less than half of what he used to weigh, and needed, in my opinion, to eat all he could just to try and stay alive. I began stuttering like a fool, trying to think of a polite way to not take a share of the meager amount of food he had been given. But Eddie insisted on me joining him. That was Eddie, no mistake. He’d break his back for you and give you the shirt off of it for you too. That was who Eddie was: kind, humble, honest, and a man of honor. It is difficult to see a man of his caliber in such a sad situation, it makes you just want to trade places with him.

Eddie had a little trouble finding enough tableware to serve us both, but he managed. He had two large biscuits and a nice bowl of gravy. It was fantastic by the way: my grandmother, may she rest in peace, would have been proud of that nice lady’s sausage gravy! Believe it or not, the best biscuits and gravy I ever tasted were served at a McDonalds on a particular unnamed military base in Virginia. I know you don't believe me, but I'm not lying to you. Now I've tried other McDonalds and they serve rock-gut gravy. I'm convinced that there was another nice lady, probably some Micky-D's teenage employee's poor grandma slaving with all her heart in the back of that lone McDonalds to churn out the best biscuits and gravy in the world. It was wonderful being stationed there. I found out about the biscuits and gravy because my roomate told me I needed to check out the gorgeous young lady (he called her something else which I'll refrain from sharing with tender young ears!) in the drive-through. I pulled up to the window to get a look at the girl, didn't know what to order, so I just picked biscuits and gravy off the menu. By the way, she was very pretty, but she wasn't the reason I kept coming back. I remember looking forward to Mondays because I would stop in the drive through and get me some more of those incredible biscuits and gravy. Tired of my tangent? Okay.

Well Eddie said a prayer and we ate together. He told me everything. His ex-wife one day just decided that she was tired of Eddie. Tired of being loved and adored. Tired of foot-rubs and back-massages. Tired of hearing him brag about her. Now she’s living it up down in a ritzy part near the Central West End and hanging out with silly folks who not only like musicals, they will even pay money to see them live. (Told you they were silly!) Frankly, I never saw what attracted people to musicals. They tend to be full of a bunch of effeminates breaking into song for no good reason. Sometimes they ruin a real good story acting all sissy like that. Oh sure, there are some good musicals, and The Sound of Music has to be the greatest one of the exceptions. Once upon a time I really liked acting and thought I would be good at it. I got involved in the drama department in high school, but alas, our drama teacher was a homosexual and I couldn’t tolerate his effeminate ways and mannerisms. He just adored Rodgers and Hammerstein’s works, and it appeared that the high school could therefore produce little outside of the R&H collection. The drama department, whether it was due to the magnetism of our homosexual teacher or the R&H musicals, seemed to draw homosexuals from throughout the school. Before I knew it, I seemed to be surrounded by effeminate guys, and getting a reputation as one of them just because of my association with the school’s theater. Well it was all too much for me; I decided that acting wasn’t worth tolerating so much arrogant sleaze and I left the theater and any aspirations to be an actor.

Well anyway, Eddie hadn’t played bass in almost 2 years because he had to sell his instrument in order to pay some bills. What a pity! He had a fancy electric bass; very attractive, very expensive, and a very nice sound. He had fallen ill, lost his job and insurance, sunk into a depression, and well, if I went on and revealed it all, you couldn’t stand to read anymore so I’ll just stop there. Let’s just say that poor old Eddie had seen better days. I was overcome with grief at listening to the things that he was subjected to. I finally asked him, overcoming my reluctance to offer help which could be construed as pity or charity, if there was anything that I could do to help him in his situation.

He was overcoming his own reluctance as well. He lowered his eyes and kind of stammered, totally in harmony with his humble and kind nature, and finally came out with it.

“Well, Jean-Paul, I don’t know, I … I … I guess, you know, I could … use a little … a little cash, you know.” I could feel him painfully swallowing his dignity. “It’s just, you know, I just can’t seem to get good work … can’t stay healthy long enough …”

I cut Eddie short. I couldn’t stand listening to him beg because it was so beneath him and so unlike him. I knew that his situation was terrible enough to drive him beyond his honor and ask for money. I held up my hand for him to stop, while I dug my wallet out of my back pocket. I was by no means rich, by my wallet was fuller than his wallet had been for a long time. I reached in and I pulled out a 50-dollar bill.

It was then I felt as if I were living through some demented 3 Stooges episode.

J.P.T.