Walking Home...

When I got home from rehearsal tonight, I had a ton of e-mails...almost all of them from myself. Everytime I got ready to leave the office, I would remember something else I needed to do and send myself an e-mail. When I got back to my junky, apartment (which is even more of a disaster, the week before the show) all of those "to-do" e-mails were here waiting for me. Once again, I was too tired to fix anything, so I went back out to McDonald's (I've been eating waaaay to much crap the past two weeks, even for me) and on the way home, on a beautiful, balmy spring night...with the scent of french fries wafting from my bag, it happened again. You know how you can live with someone for decades, especially in a small space, and over time, you've heard all of their anecdotes a million times? Even before he got extremely sick and it started affecting his mind, Lionel was a gregarious talker...to anyone who would listen, even (especially) strangers on the street. And when no one would listen, he would come home and talk to me. Sometimes, it would irk me, especially when I was trying to concentrate and get something done. Most of the time, I was able to conceal that and feign interest. But a occasionally, when I was really busy, or really tired. He could tell I wasn't really listening. Then he would get annoyed and go in the livingroom and pout. Lionel could hold a grudge forever...but he couldn't stay mad very long at all. Before I knew it, he would be back in the room telling me something else, that he'd already told me a dozen times. He was a very animated talker, acting stories out and waving his arms when he got wound up. Mostly he enjoyed the attention. And it was both irksome and endearing as those things can be...when the person hasn't died yet...and you don't know the time will come when you would give ANYTHING to drop everything and just listen to them ramble as long as they wanted. Lionel told the same jokes over and over and he enjoyed his own jokes, as much -- or more -- than anyone. Enjoyed the telling, enjoyed the punchlines, got tickled and laughed at himself every time. Sometimes, laughing almost too much to finish. As I was walking that short block back to The Covington, a man emerged abruptly from the alley, walking a large black dog. At first I thought it was my neighbor upstairs. The actor who has a similar dog, so I was poised to speak...then I realized it was someone else. A total stranger. He stopped so that his dog could sniff around the base of a random tree and take a leak. A sight I see, one we've all seen a million times here in the city. But, in the instant, I was reminded how, no matter how many times Lionel saw this happen, he would grin at the stranger and say "That dog is just checking his "Pee-mail" then he would chuckle, pleased with himself and his cleverness. That vivid image came to mind in that moment as I passed the man with his dog, and it was almost as if Lionel was there walking there with me, as he had so many times, on our way home from McDonalds at night. I could almost here his voice making that familiar joke, "Pee-Mail"...and chuckling. At the same moment I smiled at the memory, my eyes filled with tears. But, instead of laughing or crying, I opened the door and entered the lobby, passing the mailbox that still reads, Sharpe & Jaggers"...and climbed the two short flights stairs to my apartment. Alone.