Picture Whispering (m.t.a. 2007)



Posted: Friday, February 16, 2007

by
George Cole

The dusty newspaper article hugs the mirror of my vintage chest-of-drawers. I have grown so used to seeing the article in its comfortable setting, I really no longer pay it any attention anymore. Though, on this day, upon glancing at the clipping of newspaper, my mind begins racing back in time to a particular frozen snapshot of a funeral.

An "obit" provides an individual with 24 hours of fleeting fame...just long enough for the next days paper. Though, I remember Michael Trey Andrews funeral vividly as if it were just yesterday. I have heard many others relate, "I just cannot believe it..." Well, I could not believe it either. I could not comprehend his passing. It just did not compute in this weak old brain of mine. I remember seeing him a week before his passing at the cafeteria (his father managed...one of many) dispensing rolls along with humor only he could understand...or should I say, a select few of us only understood. For example, if I asked for a roll, he would say, But do you maaaane it?" Mane meaning mean, but in Michael-speak it is pronounced maaane.

Now, Michael was laying inside of a coffin while mourners dispensed long soliloquies. This was just unreal, for Michael was full of zest and zeal. He did not solicit tradition, he rebelled against it. He was born with a silver spoon that he spit out daily. He was a Sid Vicious, an Elvis, a James Dean, all rolled into on. The big difference between Michael and the afore mentioned celebrities is that he was accessible. If I wanted to be thankful for my life, I just spent one night with Michael. I was thankful for waking up alive the next day. Enough said about that.

I honestly believe the day he died, he battled and argued with the angels. I can hear him speaking to Arch-Angel Michael (sorry for the intentional symbolism),"Look man, it is not my time. My, oh my, I have Rod Stewart tickets for Friday, and I have got to meet with Diron and Tommy about my new set of woofers. You cannot take me now!"

Arch-Angel Michael would try to get a word in, but would be interrupted by Michael again, "Really, really, this is a beautiful world and all, but I have tickets that cost $65.00 a piece (this was 1997)...Can I go home?" Michael would not wait on a reply, but would continue into, "...I will give you one Stewart ticket and fifty dollars if you will let me go on living...sound like a deal?

Arch-Angel Michael sighs and motions for our Michael to continue, "Sounds like a deal huh? One ticket and fifty bucks for my soul and a ride back to earth?" When Michael receives a smile and a negative nod from the angel, Michael continues, "Uhhh, o.k. I need to clear up a few things that I did while living on earth...man...uh sir...I need to talk to your Boss Man to clear up that fire...Uh..You knew? WOW oh WOW! What about the...you did?!?! I am really not ready, I needed to pay and settle a few accounts on earth before you took me...

Michael Andrews would continue to talk his way out of heaven. He would glance down upon his own funeral and remark, " They are playing Amazing Grace and Bringing in the Sheep. Where is the Motley Crue and Rod Stewart tunes? I did not know I had so many friends...I have not seen my step brother in ages.

After Michael stares away for a few minutes, he is enveloped in a beautiful smell and warm blinding light. Jesus hugs him and diverts his attention away from the depressing past to his future shiny new home.

**Michael was a life long friend that did die way before his time. I attended his funeral in 1997 when he was almost thirty. He will be missed.
George "Chris" Cole experienced life as a law enforcement officer with a tour of duty lasting over ten years in law enforcement. He is the survivor of two marriages, and continues to meet new people that provide inspiration for many of his articles and short stories. Many of his articles have appeared in national and local publications.

In 2008, Chris abandoned West Texas and its' "Wal-Mart Trees" (Mesquite bushes that grow plastic bags) to move to the green pastures and real trees of Fredericksburg, Texas. Chris continues to work and hone his writing skills while breathing the fresh air of the hill country.

Mr. Cole can be contacted at kriskohl333@gmail.com.

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