One Nation Under Clay

“Found ‘em ass wipe,” said His Favorite Gal sitting to Clay’s right. She produced a bottle of prescribed pills and sat them in front of my buddy. 

As she filled all our cups, he removed an elegant looking capsule of purple and green from the bottle, popped it in his mouth, and swallowed it dry. He almost gagged but after a second go, got it down.

Blowing on his coffee, Clay sipped it gently and sat the cup down. Fondling a stale vanilla flavored wafer cookie that sat on a chipped saucer, he dipped it in his brew, looked at His Favorite Gal, and then to me. His gaze dropped to the table as he gulped the cookie. Finally, after digging at a crack in the table with a fingernail, he gave me an answer.

“Yah, I remember. That’s why I skipped my meds man, didn’t want you to see the real me, the real dead guy. Figured you might as well meet some of the citizens holed up in my soul, brain, or wherever it is they make camp. They got way more interesting things to say than I do Ain’t It. They formed their own government I think.”

“I’ll come back to the voices thing in a minute," I said. "About that, the real dead guy part I mean, what are you dying of brother? You got cancer or a bad ticker? Natives get both of those in trump.”

His Favorite Gal topped off our coffee while Clay formed a reply.

“My liver is shot, yah, like a goose took out with a 12 gauge. Yup, it happens from not livin’ right which wipes out the ole live-er.”

Gal put her hand over her mouth to hold back a laugh consisting or snorts.

“Gal, I’m serious now, don’t go all Indian on me now, you’ll get me started,” warned Clay.

That blew the lid off. His Favorite Gal busted out snorting which got Clay braying like a mule. I tried to keep some decorum but lost it. We sat there in a fit of laughter until tears flowed.

Clay, when talking about going Indian, was referring to our odd sense of humor. We often laugh at people getting hurt if the injury isn’t severe or at times when things are tense and serious. My pal had a way of saying things, live-er, funny. 

Despite limited education opportunity and the way he talked, as if illiterate or low in intelligence, the guy was super smart and could be a genius when it came to life or spiritual matters. And when I say spiritual I mean heart, soul, and mind.

Laughter was good medicine and reset things while taking us to the tap root of our relationship and what mattered most. Our core character, carved in diamond and unchanging, beautiful and not subject to time and decay, was what we clung to.

We caught our breath and wet our throats with tepid coffee before I spoke again.

“Okay then brother. But I see you took that pill which I assume is to keep those voices from taking over. Does this mean it’s alright for me to see the real dead guy? After all, that’s why I’m here. Follow, get me?”