“Not all mother in laws are like that, you know” she’d say, the little old lady looking up from under a big floppy hat with a purple ribbon.
We’d all sit around the porch, and laugh. Ernie K Doe’s tune seemed to strike a chord with her (and a lot of other folks, judging by the quiet chuckles).
She was there the first time I ever pressed play. I thanked her often. “If you had thrown tomatoes, all of this would never have happened. Thanks for being polite.”
One DJ gig at her retirement home worked, and turned into another. Then it went across the river, and uptown, and everywhere. The Classic Radio Hour started as a guessing game. What would they like to hear? The stories and memories came walking–and wheeling–up to my booth. “They played that one at my prom.”
Alexandria was always there, welcoming me back.
A dozen years have passed. Thousands of shows later, and a hundred and sixty eight at her place, I made a brief announcement of old news.
“This one’s for Alexandria.”
Long faces nodded.
There was no purple hat.
Ernie sounded tinny as he complained about his mother in law, the music a strange contrast of harsh to the swampy afternoon air on the porch.
We all miss her terribly.
So we listened to the songs she used to request: “Rockin’ Robin”, “Blue Suede Shoes”…
“I’m a little tired because I stayed up to 11 pm last night. Alexandria told me the story of how she would go dancing all night, pick up her heels, and go right to work in the morning. I knew then she would have broken my heart if I were in that club long ago.”
“La Bamba” filled the air.
***
I made an unrelated phone call on the way to the gig: technical stuff, logistics. But all things are related when they pertain to life. The conversation turned to the fellow’s dying mother.
“Her quality of life…it’s…well…I dunno..” his voice cracked, trailed off, and hung in the air.
I told him about Alexandria, how she was in pain, and how much she missed her husband. “I know she’s better off, but I sure do miss her. I feel ya, man.”
Calls about house projects aren’t poetic, but I should have broken character, and mentioned that faded picture Alexandria carried around.
She was with her husband on a cruise. There was a look of pride in her eyes, a twinkle in his, as their coordinated tropical shirts caught some forgotten breeze. Those waves have rolled off into a sepia obscurity, but if you listen close, they’re always in the near distance.
I don’t know what happens when you go. I’m still a little unsure. But I know she wasn’t.
“I pray for you, Josh.”
“Oh…thanks!” So I took to returning the favor, a clumsy putting in of a good word.
I hope she’s off sailing.
***
It sure wasn’t the same without her on that porch yesterday. The songs were, but the fabric of being wasn’t.
“I have a weird habit of naming trees” I told ‘em. “Planted a plum tree in the new yard the other day, and named it after her.”
The record spun. I think they played that song at her wedding. It’s about love, but also about loss, and everyone agreed.
Smoke got in our eyes.
–Josh