Me and Fats

05/03/2021 0 By BuddyCushman

It’s hard.

Some days are hard. I woke at 3 a.m. and could not fall back asleep a long time – whirring and swirling, wondering, wondering – and I fell asleep at some point and woke up into this Monday and my thought was, it’s hard.

Last night, on a walk, a friend I don’t talk with a lot called and asked how I was doing. I get a lot of that these days and I am grateful beyond descriptive language for each one and, the fact is, it’s helping to hold me up and keep me taking one breath and then another. Last night’s call, however, was different from everyone I’ve received since “the news” two and a half weeks ago. Every other call I’ve received – every single one – has kept the focus on me. How you doing (Buddy)? How you holding up (Buddy)? How are you taking care of yourself (Buddy)? How can I help you (Buddy)? Not one has had a word – not one word – about my wife.

Until last night’s. That friend went off on my wife with a bunch of stuff I won’t say here. Along the way I was advised I’d be a – quote – “fucking idiot” if I did not take better care of myself… a larger sense.

The call ended and I felt a deep sadness because I have never once had any of those thoughts and I don’t want to have them. I may be a screw-up and a less-than on any number of levels. But I can look in the mirror and see an old guy with a good soul. And I have been trying my best to make the next decision, and lift the next box, and make the next right move directly out of my soul. These last 18 days. Because that’s what I want and because that’s who I am, and because – wherever I land – there’s always another mirror.

The friend who called me last night had my interests at heart, I know that. I’m grateful for the call, if not the fallout. Part of the 3 a.m. wide awakeness, residue of divorce and heavy sadness, some ongoing disbelief, and I suppose just a smidge of anxiety when the next “now what?” rolls in.

Today, before I woke up, the “To Do” list was already filled, long and challenging, with all kinds of “separation” business – separate the car insurance, separate the phone billing, change the health insurance paying – and much of it involving more money for me to cough up, money I have some of but would rather not spend, me in fact selling most of art canvases and my bass guitar and bass amp and my Squire guitar and Fender amp, and my easel and my art supplies because – cold cold world at times – like my former brother-in-law Deedee, who you read about here last week, was also fond to say – “Money talks and bullshit walks.”

Me and Fats Domino walking. And I cannot speak for the Fat Man, but today’s been a little harder than usual to keep on walking through.

Whatcha gonna do when the well runs dry? Hope for another call, I guess.

It’s 3 p.m. Monday.