Since the cancer has affected his lungs, he can’t laydown. So, he has to sleep in his wheelchair, sitting up. He will be awake by now though, he knows I will be there. Nearing… my ill friend does not take his eyes off me.
“hey homeboy, here’s coffee” his frail hand reaches out for it
“You don’t have to do this George”
“yes I do-how goes it last night?”
“…bad” he lowers his head, looking at the coffee in the cup
“want to talk about what I am doing to get you out of here?”
“No, let’s talk about the old days, like when…” my friend has to stop for a second, his lungs, short of breath.
he continues, “… when Ed, when that nut hit him right in the nose, remember?” he laughs
“yea, yea, I think it was 95″ I answer – we continue with some more funny stories for a little bit.
My friend becomes silent.
Suddenly he looks up at me and says… ” I’m in trouble here ain’t I homeboy-I ain’t gonna make it to be free-I never thought it would hap…happen to me…” he begins to weep.
I move closer and put my arm around him. We sit, I stare, looking out a window.
Here we are sitting, just two caged men and two cups of coffee. Funny how no other inmates have exited their cells yet-Funny, funny how some Saint of dispair and lonliness sent us a small blessing today.
I will continue these mornings, continue as long as my friend can. We will have our talks, laughs, and most likely a few tears. I am proud to know Harry, I am proud of his strength, knowing he’s dying–for we are all in passing–how we live it is what counts.