There I am. Sitting in a coffee shop. Listening to Sinatra and writing. And still alive.
A few days ago I mentioned that Jonathan West has died. Not me, the other one. You know the 45-year-old guy from Milwaukee who is survived by relatives and friends? Not me, the 38-year-old Jonathan West who has many relatives and friends who work hard to survive every day with me in their lives.
Last night, my friend Scott called me while my family was eating dinner. I generally don't pick up the phone during the dinner hour, so we all listened as Scott recounted how a mutual friend/colleague of ours had read the obituary notice and tracked Scott down to see if he knew if the Jonathan West in the obituary the other day was me. I moved to the phone to pick it up, but something made me stop.
Hmmmmm? If I don't call Scott back, will he start to wonder? Will our friend have questions? Will a memorial service start to be organized?
I imagine nothing will happen, but there is something intoxicating about having the power to be "dead" to some people for a day to two.
I'll call Scott back soon. I'll let him and our pal off the hook soon. Soon, but not too soon, mind you. I'm going to hell for this one, I can feel it.