Just Bumming Around

I was now fifth in line and my apprehension was increasing significantly. I never know the right thing to say, I don't even know if there is a right thing to say. The coffin was closed so we would not see our old friend, but we needed to see his mother. She stood guard at his casket and greeted everyone who came by with tears running down her face. She had lost her husband several years ago and now her only son, her only child, had left her alone. Realistically, he had left her alone a long time ago. I remember her most from the ball games when she came to cheer for young Casey. She was his biggest fan and she absolutely adored that boy. Now I stood there just searching for something that might bring her some semblance of comfort.

Casey Taylor died a very old 26 years of age. His life had become nothing but alcohol, drugs and filth. Was he a victim of a hit and run? Maybe the hit and run driver was the victim. Staggering along the side of the road in the dark of night, Casey was gone in an instant. He must have staggered out in front of the car. The hit and run driver was never found. Quite possibly, he will be haunted by this for the rest of his life and it wasn't his fault.

Casey Taylor wasn't always like this, not at all. As a sophomore in high school, Casey led his varsity football team in scoring and went on to make the all conference squads for three straight years. Casey addressed his classmates at graduation as their valedictorian with the standard speech that challenged them to be leaders for the future of America. He was well liked by everyone who knew him and quite possibly one of the nicest people I have ever met.

After graduation from high school, Casey enlisted in the Marines, but only lasted for a year. In a letter home to his widowed mother he told her he had become disinterested in the whole warrior attitude and had screwed up on purpose to get out. But Casey didn't come home and he stayed gone for almost five years. His mother worried and waited but never received a letter or call during that long period of time. Finally, he showed up in town with hair to the middle of his back and a scraggly beard that hung on his chest. When he played football his senior year, he stood six feet three and weighed 240 pounds. Now he looked like a walking stick at barely 150 pounds and he stooped at the shoulders like a man of seventy or eighty years.

I first saw him like this sitting in a bar on one Saturday evening after I had finished playing golf. I wouldn't have known him if he hadn't spoken to me first. Even when he did speak, his voice was so soft it didn't sound a thing like Casey Taylor. My reaction was one of shock and disbelief and I asked him what had happened to him. "Oh nothing," he sort of whispered, "nothing at all." I must have asked him a half dozen questions about where he had been, what he had been doing, if he had been sick and I can't remember what else, but he just looked at me and smiled and asked me to buy him a drink. He told me that he hadn't been any place special and that he was just kind of bumming around for awhile. I bought him a beer and tried to make some conversation to just see what had become of that young man who seemingly had so much to give to the world. He drank his beer and just listened as I talked, very seldom saying anything and that was the way he wanted it.

Over the next few months I ran into him several times again and each time he looked progressively worse than the last. Occasionally I would try to draw him into a conversation about his past, but he never bit, he would just smile and say he hadn't been doing anything, just bumming around. Then one day I ran into another friend who asked about Casey and we talked for quite some time about how bad he looked and wondered how this could have happened. My friend told me that he had heard that Casey hadn't even gone to see his mother since he had returned and he was sure by now that she had to have heard that Casey was back in town. I thought of going to see her to ask about Casey, but something always came up and I never did get the job done.

Several times over the next few months, although I didn't see Casey, I heard stories about his drunkenness and how people had found him here and there, just passed out, totally oblivious to the world around him. Finally, one day when I saw him in the grocery store, as he limped down the aisle carrying a loaf of bread, I hurried to catch him. He could barely walk, but he just brushed it off as a turned ankle. It had been at least a month since he had showered, he reeked of alcohol and it was difficult to stand close to him for any length of time. I offered him some money to see a doctor about his ankle, but he refused any hand outs. He did say that I could buy him a drink. His life was just a vicious cycle of drinking, drugs and passing out and Casey just didn't care. I argued that he needed to get some medical attention and that I was really worried about him. That was when he stopped me very short in my tracks and told me in an absolutely clear voice that he was perfectly all right and he needed no one to worry about him. As far as Casey was concerned, if I was going to worry about him, then I was to stay away from him for good.

Two weeks after our encounter at the grocery, I got a call from another friend. Casey's body had been found along the highway in a ditch. He was nearly decapitated and had been lying in the ditch for a couple of days. Casey's life was gone in an instant; his mother's pain went on forever. I couldn't find the right words.

This story was totally fictitious, just a complete fabrication in my mind. Any similarities between these characters and actual persons would be, if not a miracle, at least completely coincidental; except for the semi-authentic character portrayed by the author.