SkiBo and Me

“SkiBo” his internet name.

His given name: Gene Tarnowski

but simply, “Ski” to all that knew him.

Friends for years;

Ski living a four minute walk

from my rear patio

along the green velvet lined walkway

then ten steps up to the grassy knoll

to behind Ski’s patio where,

no matter the heat,

would always be shade,

would always be a cooling breeze.

Where two chairs would be moved onto the grass

where vodka tonics would be made and sipped.

Onto the grassy knoll

where Ski and me watched

Gus and Harry;

our two “Yorkies”.

Gus the daddy and Harry his “kid”

would run and romp

when,

to the delight of passersby,

Gus and Harry would run to greet.

Whereupon,

no matter the heat,

the shade stippled,

breeze cooled

grassy knoll

Ski and me would talk of this

and would talk of that.

Near a week younger than me

we would talk as two elderly

dear friends would talk:

of grown children

of our grown children’s children.

Ski and me would talk of our wives,

only good things, of course.

And of food.

Ski loved to eat,

as do I.

Difference being,

Ski loved to cook

so conversations most often went to food,

along with the preparation thereof.

Difference being,

actually,

I’m more an eater.

Conservatively, politically aligned,

conversations most often went to politics.

So now,

In this year,

considering the consequences

I can but imagine the conversations

between Ski and me.

Personal conversational problem, though.

Ski, a “Born Again Christian.”

And me,

a non-religious,

non-practicing Jew.

When, years earlier,

Ski’s words to me,

on a near daily basis:

“I love you as a brother,

I know what’s coming,

so accept Jesus Christ

as your personal savior.”

Though a Jew.

Knowing I am a Jew,

knowing also,

1 am a non-religious person.

Knowing Ski meant well:

“No, Ski, please!”

I would reply on a near daily basis.

“Please, just drop it.”

Though spoken on a near daily occurrence,

 in those earlier years Ski would,

just drop it.

Bonnie, my wife,

said I’d be sorry,

said I would miss him.

Years going on,

becoming more vocal,

 “Accept Jesus Christ!”

Becoming more demanding,

“I love you, brother!

Accept Jesus Christ!”

“Drop it, Ski!”

I would demand.

However…

Bonnie said I’d be sorry,

said I would miss him.

I am as I am!

As you are as you are!

As Ski was as he was.

My friend’s intentions,

I know were good

but time came when

“Accept Jesus!”

became an everyday command.

Eventually, in time,

I stopped walking the four minute walk

along the green velvet lined walkway.

Ski and me no longer talked as elderly dear friends.

We no longer talked.

One year passed:

Bonnie said I’d be sorry.

Bonnie said I would miss him.

Two years passed.

Eventually, in time,

Gus, the Yorkie daddy, died.

Eventually, in time,

Harry, the Yorkie son, died.

Eventually, in time,

Ski, my dear old friend died.

So true .

Now I walk the green velvet lined walkway

with Kody and a day does not pass that I do

not look to the shade stippled grassy knoll

where,

no matter the heat,

would always be a cooling breeze.

Where,

two chairs would be moved onto the grass.

Where,

vodka tonics would be made and sipped.

Where,

talk of food and families and politics would

be spoken between two elderly friends.

So it is said;

two subjects to be avoided:

politics and religion.

SkiBo and me.

Bonnie is right.

©October 9, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman