From the Top - Chapter 20

The morning was gray and overcast as I pulled into the church parking lot for Willie’s funeral service. I’d driven alone, letting Hanna and Kat, who had come back into town for the service, get there before me while I tried to mentally prepare myself for the service. It had been almost a week since Willie passed, but I still wasn’t completely over losing him.

I sat there for a few minutes, just thinking, before finally heading into the church. The lot was already filled with cars, which didn’t surprise me. Willie was beloved, not just in Wellsville but the whole area. Inside the church, I was met with the low hum of conversation and organ music playing softly in the background. The room was simple, with rows of wooden pews leading up to the front where I could see Willie’s casket. A large, framed photo of Willie in his younger days sat on a stand beside the casket, along with a massive wreath of roses and lilies.

Keenan was up front, the only actual family Willie had left. Next to him sat Chef and a couple of the guys from the Blue Ridge, which had closed for the morning so everyone could go to the service. Hanna and Kat sat on the next pew over. They had saved me a seat.

“Welcome, everyone. We are gathered here today with heavy hearts to honor and celebrate the remarkable life of Willie Johnson,” the preacher said as the service began. “Willie was a kind and generous friend who touched many lives through his warm spirit and compassion. He was always willing to lend a hand or offer words of comfort to those in need.”

“Willie had a talent for bringing people together. He had a gift for finding common ground and helping others see the humanity in one another. Willie built bridges where others saw divides.”

“Most of all, we will miss the music he brought into all of our lives. Willie had a true gift that he generously shared with all of us. His music brought us joy, comforted us in times of sorrow, and lifted our spirits in celebration.”

“We can take comfort that Willie hasn’t left us forever, but is waiting for us in the kingdom of heaven, ready to play us one more song when we join him. As it says in John, chapter fourteen, verses one through three, ‘Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you to myself; that where I am, there you may be also.’ ”

“The family has asked Willie’s friend and protégé Charlie Nelson to come up and say a few words. Charlie,” he said, looking directly at me.

I stood up on legs that suddenly felt shaky and made my way to the front of the church. I’d been in front of crowds so many times by this point, but I don’t think I’d ever felt as nervous as I did right then. When I started talking, my throat was tight.

“Hi everyone,” I started, and then cleared my throat to try to steady my voice a little. “I’m, uhh, Charlie. Most of you know me and know that Willie and I spent a lot of time together. I’m … I’m not sure what to say about him. I spent all week trying to figure out what I was going to say, but … how do you talk about someone who gave you everything and asked for nothing in return?”

I rubbed my sweaty palms against my pant legs.

“One of the last times I saw him, just before the end, he told me he didn’t want everyone being sad when he was gone. He wanted us to celebrate him. To remember the things we loved about him, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

I paused, looking out across the people gathered in the room.

“Willie loved music. He loved playing it, he loved listening to it, and he loved talking to people about it. The first time I met him, up at the Blue Ridge, he heard I played guitar. He made me play him something. This was within, like, five minutes of meeting him. I was nervous, since I’d gone up to ask Chef about a job, but Willie made me feel welcome, like I belonged there.”

“I know most of you don’t know him like that. You listened to him play, or sat out on the porch talking to him, or just waved as you saw him around town, but I think it was actually the same for all of us. He had a passion and joy that rubbed off on everyone.”

“That’s what I think we should keep with us. We should remember how seeing Willie made us feel and try to be a little more like him. We can keep his memory alive by being a little nicer to each other, having a little more patience with each other, and trying to find the joys in life. At least, that’s how I’m going to try to honor him. I think if we were all a little more like Willie, the world would be a better place. Uhh … Thank you.”

When I got back to my seat, Hanna patted me on the leg, and Kat took my hand in hers, so I guess I said the right thing. Pastor Wilkerson got back behind the podium and gave a little sermon about heaven and remembering people, that actually went well with what I’d said, although it seemed like the kind of thing he might have said for most sermons.

After the service, we followed the hearse carrying the casket out to the cemetery and had one last little service by his grave; it was sad to see him lowered into the ground. I thought about what I’d said, though. He’d asked me not to be sad, and I hadn’t really listened. I needed to take my own advice and try to keep Willie’s memory alive a little better.

***

The end of a funeral is weird. There’s all this emotion, people feeling the loss of their family member or friend, and then it’s over and everyone just wanders off to their cars and drives back to their normal lives.

I just couldn’t do that. I waved Kat and Hanna off, telling them I’d meet them back at the car in a little bit, and hung back, close to where the workers were waiting to finish burying Willie properly. I didn’t think I was going to stay around for that, because I didn’t need that as my final image of him, but I also couldn’t make myself leave yet. I felt like walking back to my own life and worries was like closing that last door. It was so final.

I was still standing there when Keenan appeared beside me. I’d thought he’d already headed down to his truck, and he surprised me. For a moment, he didn’t say anything and we just stood there, looking at the hole in the ground with Willie’s headstone behind it.

“I never thought this day would come,” Keenan finally said quietly. “Even after the diagnosis, Willie just had this spark. The life in him that made it seem like he’d go on forever.”

I only nodded in response.

Keenan was silent for another minute and then he cleared his throat, “I, uh, I have something for you. I found it when I was cleaning out Willie’s house. I think he’d want you to have it.”

He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a few sheets of paper covered in handwritten music notes and lyrics.

“It’s a song,” he explained. “I think he was working on it for years. He never let me see it or even really talked about it, but I saw him working on it over the years. Scribbling away on those pages.”

I took the pages from him carefully, almost reverently. There were sections crossed out and rewritten, notes in the margins. Some of the lettering was old and faded, and the crease lines from where the pages had been folded and unfolded countless times were tearing slightly. It was clearly a work in progress. It didn’t even have a title.

“I don’t know much about music and would either leave this in a drawer or frame it and put it up on a wall. Knowing how he felt about you … I think maybe he’d want you to have it. He wouldn’t want this to just become a memory. With all the time he spent working on it over the years, I think he’d want to see it finished, and I think he’d want you to be the one to do it.”

“I don’t know if I could ever do it justice,” I said truthfully.

Keenan shook his head. “We both know that isn’t true. Many times, Willie said you were one of the most talented musicians he’d ever met.”

Willie had said as much to me, but it was a difficult thing for me to just accept. I might have some ability, but I didn’t have the experience, either with music or life in general, to really do something like this justice. Blues isn’t pop or rock. Blues is about life, about the journey you have taken, and it requires a life well lived. It’s why all of the best blues players live hard lives and only really hit their stride later in life. It gives them that authenticity that real blues needs. The thought of trying to complete a song written by someone with Willie’s life experience was daunting.

“I know Willie would want you to have this,” Keenan continued gently, seeing the doubt on my face. “Maybe you could make it a tribute to him. Perform it at your shows or record it.”

I didn’t say anything right away; just nodded and looked back at the music.

“I wouldn’t want any money from it or anything like that,” Keenan added quickly. “I just want a piece of Willie to live on, keep his memory alive, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said in a kind of hoarse voice, my throat tight. “I know what you mean. I’d like that. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to finish this song and do it justice.”

Keenan smiled and put a hand on my shoulder, “I know you will. That’s why you were the only person I could think to give this to.”

I carefully folded the weathered pages and tucked them into my jacket pocket.

“Thank you. This means … more than I can say.”

As we made our way back in the car, I didn’t say anything, partially because I wanted to work on it a bit before I told anyone else about it, and partially because I was just emotionally numb at this point. On that, at least, it seemed like Hanna and Kat agreed. The silence in the car was deafening as I drove Hanna and Kat back from Willie’s funeral.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t spend any time together after the funeral. Hanna said she had a ‘project’ to work on, although I think both Kat and I knew that was code for her wanting to see Professor Cross. I would have called her on that, but Kat had to be back for swim practice, so I let it go.

While I waited downstairs, I pulled out Willie’s music, looking it over again. The notations were messy, scribbled down in Willie’s familiar scrawl. I could see that this was still just the bare bones of a song. There were gaps in the melody line, half-finished lyrics that trailed off unfinished. But hearing it play in my head, it still sounded like him. I played the music over and over, adding my own bits in my head as I did, connecting sections, paring some things back, building others up. It’s what I did when I worked on any of my own songs, but this time, it was somehow different. I was working it out, doing my thing, but it wasn’t my music.

I was lost in the music when Hanna came clomping down the stairs. Seeing her, I snapped back to what I’d been thinking on the car ride back. I was still feeling sad about Willie, and I still had a lot to think about, but life didn’t stop. And seeing Hanna, I had a big problem right in front of me that I needed to address.

“Hey … can we talk for a minute before you and Kat head out?” I asked as she started to walk past me toward the kitchen.

Hanna looked wary, like she wanted to make a break for it. But after a moment, she nodded reluctantly.

I took a deep breath and said, “Look, I know things didn’t go great the last time we talked, but nothing changes the fact that you’re one of my best friends. I’m worried about you because I care.”

Hanna crossed her arms over her chest defensively, “I already told you I can handle this. It’s my life, Charlie.”

“I know it’s your life, and I’m not trying to tell you how to live it. But you are playing with fire, and I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t try to do something. And you’re not alone in this. You have a mother who loves you and cares a lot about how you end up. You need to tell her what’s happening.”

“And I told you it wasn’t any more of her business than yours. I’m not going to talk to her about who I’m allowed to date.”

I sighed. I was just worn down by everything. I don’t know why I hoped she’d listen to me this time, even though she didn’t the last time. Naive, I know, but I’d hoped.

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that. I know I said this last time, but I’m going to lay it out one more time. You’re putting yourself in a really bad position here. This guy is your professor. Even if you think it’s consensual, there’s a power imbalance that makes the whole thing unworkable. I know you think you have it under control and that I’m overreacting. But this could ruin Professor Cross’s career, which means if things go bad, he has every motivation in the world to make it so you can’t hurt him. If things go south between you two, he could burn down your reputation and entire education to protect his reputation. I don’t know if you think this is love or just a college fling, but you need to really think through the risks here.”

Hanna started to argue but I held up my hand, “Please, just let me finish. You’re my best friend and I love you. I love you too much to just let this go. You need to talk to your mom, or I’m going to do it for you. You have one week to talk to your mom about this. If you don’t, then I will.”

I got exactly the reaction I thought I was going to get, but I didn’t care. I meant every word I’d said. Hanna’s face flushed red, and she balled her hands into fists at her sides.

“I can’t believe you! I thought you were my friend, but clearly you only care about controlling everyone around you.”

“You know that’s not true. Somewhere inside, I hope you realize I’m only doing this because I care about you. I’m not trying to throw this in your face, but we had the same argument about Troy, and we both know how that ended.”

“Oh, please! This is nothing like what happened with Troy and you know it. You’re just jealous not everything is about you and that you’re not in control.”

“Can’t you see I’m worried because I care about you?”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself. It’s my life, not yours!” she practically screamed.

“Hanna, I’m asking you to talk to your mom because she loves you and deserves to know. Keeping this from her will only make it worse,” I said, my shoulders slumping.

Although I knew in my head how this was going to go, I’d secretly hoped somehow it would have gone differently. I guess this is what they meant by ‘it’s the hope that kills you.’

“I don’t need your fake concern. This is none of your business. You’re ruining our friendship over nothing.”

“Hanna, I …”

“No,” she yelled, not letting me get out what I was going to say. “We’re done. I don’t need anyone who thinks they can tell me how to live my life. You can go fuck yourself. I fucking hate you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, feeling heavy. “You can hate me all you want; that’s not going to change anything. I’m not trying to control you or ruin your life. I’m trying to stop you from ruining it yourself, and I care about you enough to put our friendship on the line to do it.”

The sound of Kat running down the stairs drew both of our attention. She was carrying one sock, with the other on her foot, and had probably come to see what all the yelling was about. I didn’t have it in me to explain it. I just nodded my head toward Hanna and patted Kat on the shoulder as I walked past her on my way upstairs.

“One week, Hanna,” I said as I turned the corner and they disappeared from sight. “Either you tell her or I will.”