Remembering Jerry

Ten years ago today, my friend Jerry -- a true smartass and one of St. Louis' greatest fabulists, then or since -- died after living with AIDS for nearly a decade.

The day before, I sat at his bedside and held his frail hand and asked him what I should say at his memorial service. He had specifically asked me to give the eulogy and, knowing his temperament in this life, I thought it best to consult him, lest he be unsatisifed and haunt me in the next one. "A bitchy kaftan-clad ghost is the last thing I need following me around," I told him.

He laughed at this and there followed a long period of hacking and wheezing. His lungs had been filling up with fluid faster than they could be drained. Jerry was a skinny-dipping hippie from way back, an expert and elegant swimmer. The irony that he would be drowning now, at the end, was a source of some amusement to him.

When he found his breath, he turned to me and said, "Remind them that life is a fatal, sexually-transmitted condition."

When I repeated that line a week later, half of the mourners gasped and the other half tittered at Jerry's parting shot. Jerry's mother who, before the service, had been at least stiffly polite when introducing me to his delightfully droll granny as one of Jerry's "...er, friends" glared at me from her seat and never spoke to me again.

A tight clutch of Jerry's "...er, friends" adjourned to Clementine's after the memorial for an ersatz wake.

"Leave it to him to come up with such a kick-ass version of 'carpe diem'," said The Giant Queen.

"Latin was never Jerry's style," said Norman.

"Well, there was that one comely thing from Brazil," the GQ shot back. We laughed and laughed and told dozens of stories about our fallen friend.

We closed the bar that night and the next day, Paul and I called over to Sparta and signed up for skydiving lessons, something we'd talked about often but never made time for. A doctor friend had told me it might ameliorate my intense fear of falling and Paul just loved a thrill. When the instructor asked why we were interested in learning to jump, I told him we'd just been diagnosed with chronic life and didn't know if or when we'd have another chance to do it.

I miss you terribly, Jerry. Come back and see us sometime. I promise not to make a crack about your outfit. You always did look good in feathers, and I know you've got some damn fine wings. Thanks for helping me find mine.

Comments:

<< Back to Must See HTTP://