SOLO

It’s true, whenever I drive through a cemetery, I always turn off the radio, or whatever music I have in my car. It just seems like the right thing to do as you make your way alongside those laid to rest, to travel in silence so your mind can absorb and respect the sensitive environment you are in. And especially if you know someone who is there, it helps you conjure up memories and thoughts of those who have passed.

I had been at my dentist getting a crown re-attached, and on my way home, I knew I’d be passing the cemetery where we just laid our longtime Second Wind guitarist and dear friend Bob to rest a few days prior, so I thought I’d go and pay some respects briefly, by myself. The day of the funeral was windy, chilly and we were all standing at his graveside in a sad, windblown, cold sort of mode, but this afternoon was beautiful and sunny and warm, so I felt it was a good time to visit his gravesite.

But even with the music turned off, I kept hearing faint guitar strains, fragments of Bob’s solos from songs we had played in Second Wind. It’s part of the whole picture after losing Bob, I thought to myself. Like when I hear any song we played as a band, I tear up now. The mind does play tricks on you in these deeply emotional moments.

I drove slowly through the quiet, winding roads of the large cemetery, stopping briefly to see another band member’s parents’ grave, and then pulled up and parked on the side of the road near the grassy knoll where we bid goodbye to Bob on that cold and windy day. And those riffs, his solos, they kept wafting through my ears.

When I got out of my car, I saw something which initially startled me enough to make me pause. Someone was sitting at the base of a tree that was about five feet from Bob’s gravesite. I rubbed my eyes thinking I wasn’t seeing it right, I was tired and of course had been emotionally wound up for days, so perhaps I was just delusional. But no, there was definitely someone there.

I slowly walked towards the gravesite, and as I got closer, I stopped cold in my tracks, my heart leaped up and down in my body, my hands began to sweat, my skin rose with goosebumps, my breathing became heavy. I rubbed my eyes again, and then my mouth dropped open.

It was Bob, sitting there on the ground, with his back against the tree, strumming his infamous green electric guitar, the one he played in most of our gigs.

“Bob???” I said. “Uh…Bob…is that…is that…really you, man??”

He looked up and smiled. “Hey Steve,” he said. “Yeah it’s me. What’s goin’ on?”

“Um, well, of course I’m totally, um, shocked you’re sitting here. We…I mean…all of us…I mean…we just said goodbye to you right here, last week!”

“Yeah, I know Steve,” Bob said. “I was kinda surprised too. I think…it’s a musician thing.”

I walked over and slowly sat down in the grass next to him. “A musician thing?” I responded. “What’s that mean, a ‘musician thing’?”

“Well, apparently when musicians go to heaven, they get one brief last moment to play some music, you know, in person,” Bob explained. “And it’s usually right near where people said goodbye to them. I guess you can do it whenever you want, soon after you’re laid to rest, or later on. I chose now.”

“I’m so glad,” I replied. “Massively stunned, totally mindblown and in complete awe, but so glad. But…why did you choose now?”

“Because I knew you were coming by,” he said. “I knew without a doubt that you’d come by to see me here on your own. That’s what you do.”

“Oh, Bob,” I said as tears welled up in my eyes. “We miss you so very much,” the salty drops starting to roll down my cheeks. “I mean, SO much. All of us in the band hadn’t been together in so long, I mean, we probably only had a couple rehearsals in the last like, two years, and maybe only two gigs if that. And with you being sick, the time together was even more limited. And now…you’re gone. It’s ripped us all up.”

“Yep, I know Steve,” Bob said, as he quietly played the strains of the classic opening riff from “Mainstreet,” one of our Second Wind staples. “I miss you guys a ton, too. And I told Jenn I wanted to see you five so badly as things were getting worse, but I just couldn’t muster the strength. You saw the way I played on your birthday video I sent Suzanne. Pretty shaky. That’s why I’m here now. To just play for a minute for one of my band brothers. Here…” And he started another solo — acoustic sounding on his electric guitar — from “Gimme Three Steps,” the Skynyrd standard that was also one of ours.

My shock and disbelief slowly gave way to utter joy as I watched him play. “Man, you still got it, bro.”    

“Yeah, I was feeling pretty good before all of that crap kicked in, I really felt I was going to grow my playing, raise the bar. Oh well, guess The Man had other plans.”

“Hey Bob?” I said.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you do this for Jenn, Rose and John? I mean, let your family see you one more time?”

“Oh Steve, they were my family, my everything, I loved them more than life and I know they will always cherish our trove of memories and hold me dear, as I do them. They also saw me every day, every night, all the time. They have me right in their pockets, and always will. And I want them to remember me in the good times, not here next to where they said goodbye.”

“As for you guys in the band,” he continued, “well, we had a different kind of bond that maybe was alot less time together, but it was still deep, and true, and powerful, and in some ways, unmatched. Sure, we had our edgy moments, like when we were bickering about picking songs to try, or whining about setlists” — we both chuckled openly at those memories – “but man, there was nothing like that band, and what we accomplished in fifteen years. So, I knew you were coming by, and I thought I’d use this ‘gift from God’ to bid you farewell, with guitar in hand, so you could tell all of the boys – Sam, John, Dan and Paul – how much I miss them, too. And what better way than this…” And he launched into another solo, this one from “Can’t You See,” one of my favorite songs to sing, and one of my favorite solos Bob had ever done.

I sang the chorus along with him as he played, all as the sun wafted through the tree above us, the chimes hanging from the branches jangling amidst our music. Then…he stopped.

“Well, man,” he said, “I better go. We’re only given a few minutes for this. I’ll see you guys and my family sometime, up there, I hope. Not soon, but sometime. Then maybe, we can play together again.”

“Yeah Bob, I hope so too. I love you, man. Thanks for starting the band with John, for accepting me as your singer, and for all those incredible memories. I will miss you up there onstage, playing next to me.”

“Me too, there was nothing like it. Oh, and Steve?” Bob said as he stood up to go.

“Yes?” I replied.

“One more thing. You guys make sure you grab a new guitarist and keep Second Wind alive. Promise me you’ll try to do that, OK?”

My eyes welled up again. “We’ll see, my man. It’s gonna be hard, but I think we all want to keep the band’s legacy, your legacy, going.” He nodded and smiled.

“But Bob?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“It will never be the same without you.”

“Thanks, man. Take care,” he said, and turned with his guitar in hand and walked up the grassy hill and out of sight.

All of a sudden, I came to, and I was sitting in my car, eyes full of tears, breathing heavily, arms and chest sweaty and skin flushed. What just happened, I thought to myself, I guess it was all just a daydream, but it felt so real. Then, I looked down on the seat next to me, and there was a copy of the setlist from a show long ago at PJ Skidoo’s, which wasn’t in the car before. The last song of the gig? “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” And Bob’s amazing solo near the end immediately flooded my brain.

“Well, as far as Second Wind,” I thought, “we sure did get both what we wanted, and what we needed. And then some. Thanks for the memories, Bob.”  

I drove off, glancing one more time over at the place where he lays. And where he played me those last solos.