(Charlie Meador, Robert's Western World, June 2010)
It was two weeks ago to this day that I received the phone call. We had lost our dear friend Charlie to a tragic car wreck. In the late hours of that Friday night, my friend Trey phoned me to inform me of the tragedy. And just like that, years and years of heaviness came rushing to the surface. At first, I thought it was some sick joke. Then, I refused to believe. And finally, in the early morning hours of Saturday I came to accept the fact that this incredible young man was gone. Gone, just like that. Gone, in the most unexpected of ways.
"And one of these days I'll be left with nothing but memories and no time, So I better get accustomed, 'Cause I got a lot, Lord, I got a lotta losin', Bye and Bye..." - Monsters of Folk
My reaction to the loss of Charlie was anything but subtle. What further complicated the matter was how well I knew Charlie. Here is the thing, I knew him for such a short time. Charlie and my friend, Trey, came to visit me here in Nashville at the beginning of June for three days. Trey, an ex-student of mine, had plotted a journey for the summer to travel and make a documentary on artists. When Trey told me about his trip, I offered a place to stay. Back in 2006 or 2007, when Trey was one of my students, he was one of the quietest students I had. After the fact, we became good friends-- albeit mostly through email. He is someone I can always count on for a great conversation about Woody Allen, movies, music, or life happenings. So, when he accepted my offer to house him during his documentary tour, I was thrilled.
About a week before arriving, Trey informed me his friend Charlie would be accompanying him. I was excited and nervous. While Trey and I had become good friends, we had never really interacted with one another outside of the classroom. I wondered, will it be awkward? Will he be as quiet as he was in the classroom? And I wondered, what will Charlie be like?
Once Trey and Charlie arrived, I realized we would have fantastic time. Trey was not the quiet young man that I remembered and Charlie...well, Charlie is the type of person who can talk to anyone and makes everyone feel comfortable. We found ourselves laughing hysterically within the first few moments, as Charlie comically recounted their experiences in Memphis and the other places they had traveled.
My plan for our two nights were to spend one night going to Lower Broadway showing them the honky tonks and one night visiting East Nashville.
That Thursday evening, my friend Art came over and the four of us made our way to Lower Broadway. We visited Robert's Western World where we picked out a pair of cowboy boots for all four of us. Then The Stage where we drank cheap beer and Art became the most beautiful bachelorette in all of the land. We sat out on the grass at the Riverfront Park and talked. We tried to ride the bull at Cadillac Ranch, which unfortunately was closed. Instead, we talked about having Art become the impromptu bull; however, instead, we all walked out of the bar as "sad bulls." Then, we finished our evening at The Wheel, where a lovely woman came to our table. She shared her drink with me, made us all sing along to some song about being a "redneck woman" (including yelling loudly the "hell yeah" parts in unison), and took quite a liking to Charlie and his flannel Western shirt. We finished the evening back at my apartment with Mud Tugs, an entire container of Hummus, and a viewing of a Dianetics video that Charlie and Trey had picked up during their journey. We laughed until the early morning hours, while Art and I screamed about the lack of structural arguments in the video.
On Friday, Trey and Charlie took off on their own to find needed supplies for the video camera. When they returned back to the house, they informed me they had the fortunate experience of visiting Rhino Books and McKays. I remember them showing me all their lucky finds, but perhaps most memorably, they had found a book that explains to children what is happening to their bodies during puberty. We spent most of the afternoon listening to Charlie read to us from the book, while trying to contain our laughter. Sitting here now, I can still glance over at the couch and see Charlie sitting there reading to us all about how we shouldn't be ashamed and how everyone develops differently.
That evening, I had decided I'd like to take Trey and Charlie out to dinner and drinks at the Holland House, then attend a show at the 5 Spot. We were joined by Art, Ashley (Archer), my neighbor Ashley (Ludman), Jonathan, and Becky. We laughed, ate, drank, read our name definitions from Urban Dictionary, talked about both Becky and I's upcoming trips to the Caribbean, and discussed the documentary. Afterwards, we made our way to the 5 Spot, where we brooded about love and sad music. Towards the end of the evening, we decided to walk over to Art's house for a short bit before catching a cab back to my apartment.
On the way to the house, Charlie started feeling sick. During the latter half of the trip, he had developed a pretty bad chest cold. On the walk, he started feeling dizzy and had started coughing very badly. As we sat and talked propped up against a building off of Gallatin, we became very concerned about his coughing...and we decided it might be best to make a trip to the emergency room.
So there we were, Charlie, Trey and I at the Vanderbilt emergency room at 2am. They took Charlie back pretty quickly; however, once he had gone back to the doctor, they would only let one of us back at a time. Trey went first. After about 30 minutes, Trey passed off the visitors pass to me saying that Charlie wanted me to come back and sit with him, while Trey called Charlie's parents. I'm not sure how much time passed, but I'll never forget sitting on the hospital bed with Charlie talking for what felt like hours. Luckily, Charlie only had a sinus infection gone bad and needed some medication to ease the congestion and pain.
The next day in the late morning, Trey and Charlie packed. They were scheduled to be in Asheville in the early afternoon for the next leg of their journey. I remember feeling sad that they were leaving. I promised I would come visit them both in Columbia. After the trip, I stayed in touch with Charlie. We joked about the trip. We discussed going to the zoo together. I promised to send him pictures from our last lawn party before I left for Puerto Rico. We shared songs with one another.
Although I knew Charlie for such a short time, I was shattered by the loss of him. A myriad of feelings ran through my mind that night. Charlie was an absolutely wonderful person. I could run through the list of positive adjectives; however, most importantly, Charlie was kind and generous. There are those moments in your life when you meet people by chance that you know are the sort of people you want to keep in your life, regardless of how many hours, days, weeks, or years you know them. They just simply emanate sincerity, in a way that a jaded person, such as myself, appreciates and helps them remember and believe in the good of people. Charlie was one of these people. I had looked forward to getting to know him better. I had looked forward to trying to put together an art show in which both Trey and Charlie could share their work here in Nashville. I had looked forward to more laughter in the future.
Saturday morning, after I heard the news about Charlie, I woke up and for a few short moments, I had forgotten. Then it all came rushing back. It was true. It wasn't a dream. This had really happened. And then the heaviness came. The heaviness from years of loss.
There are few things in this world that can shake me to my core, making me question everything in my life. There are few things that make me want to give up on everything. Losing friends and loved ones to death is that thing for me. The bottom falls out and I stumble through the darkness of the loss. And this wasn't my first experience with loss.
In 1999, I lost Dan, one of my best friends, to a drug overdose. In 2000, I lost my father to MS. In 2001, I lost Joe, an ex-boyfriend, to a brain aneurysm. During those years, it felt like it would never end. In 2002, I sat waiting. Waiting to hear the news. I can always remember the phone calls. Those dreadful phone calls when you feel the earth beneath you sink. When Dan died, my friend Paul called. He left a message, he told me he had some bad news about Dan. I remember the phone call. It was the first time I had lost someone close to me. I dropped the phone while I stood there crying. When my dad died, my mother informed me and I thought about the Christmas present I had planned to buy him. When Joe died, my friend Chip called me. I stood in the middle of the school uniform company store where I worked and sobbed.
Although 2002 was a difficult year to get past, I continued to wait for those phone calls. I was anxious. I felt broken from the loss. But luckily, years begin to pile up. Years passed and no more phone calls arrived. Eventually, I was able to reconcile my own feelings with the losses. That being said, every year on the days that I lost these loved ones, I always remember them. July 30th, December 2nd, and February 1st.
"I keep death on my mind, like a heavy crown...But for the record, I'd come pick you up, We'll head for the ocean, Just say when you've had enough...Let me down slow, just help me go slow, I've been hurrying on. I was poised for greatness, I was down and out. I keep death at my heels, like a basset hound..." -Conor Oberst
Hearing about Charlie and listening to Trey try to navigate his own emotions on our loss brought all of this to the surface. And it was during these conversations with Trey, I knew that I needed to be with him and Charlie's friends and family as everyone said goodbye. And so on the Monday after the loss of Charlie, I drove to the beach in South Carolina.
That evening, a group of people congregated at the beach house of Trey's family. We gathered together Big Chill-style and drank, played games, and talked about Charlie. The mood was light that evening. We shared funny stories about Charlie. And we all passed out, perhaps not completely prepared for what the morning would bring.
The morning of the funeral, I woke up in a place I didn't recognize. As my eyes opened, scanning the room, I realized I was in the beach house, I remember thinking, "Fuck. It is true. Charlie is gone. Now we say goodbye." We piled into cars and made our way to Georgetown for the funeral. On the way to the funeral in my rental car, I played the song I was listening to when Trey told me the neww--as loud as possible. I thought about Charlie. I thought about Trey. I thought about his family and friends.
The last song they played at his funeral, after everyone had said goodbye, was Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. As a young woman played her guitar and sang this song, we walked out of the church in tears and embraces.
I left quickly after after saying goodbye to Trey, Kyle, and Chelsea. I needed to have my own time on the road, alone, to say goodbye. In ways it felt like saying goodbye to not only Charlie, but all of those people I have lost in my life.
I know Charlie is missed by all of those that loved him. I know he will be remembered. I know he will be honored for the wonderful life he led and his kindness and generosity. I can only hope that Trey, when he feels ready, will take the fabulous memories and footage of that summer trip and make something beautiful to honor Charlie, for all of us that knew him. Whether it was for a short time, a long time, or whether he simply passed through our lives quickly and left an impression.
We will miss you Charlie Meador, always. Thank you for the time we spent and...well, the laughter. Hell yeah, mi companero.
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