My Friend Tom

The other day, after I had performed the morning rituals, and was preparing to leave the Cave for the coffee shop, I foresaw the rest of my day.  After coffee I would return home and spend the rest of the day watching TV, playing video games, reading, and napping.  Like I did yesterday, and the day before, and the day before…

I am boring.  My life is boring.  I was always boring, but my life always wasn’t.  For instance, there was my friend Tom.

Tom was a musician.  He supplemented his income by giving guitar lessons and making deliveries for a Chinese take-out place.  He had a comfortable studio apartment on the second floor of what was once a one-family, three-story dwelling.  The first floor was one flat occupied by four friendly young women.  Tom’s room was one of two on the second floor, and the third floor was another apartment. 

One time the girls on the first floor had a party, and invited the house, but that’s another story.  Tom eventually married Connie, one of the girls from the first floor, but that’s later.  Kind Connie and Terrible Tom, that’s another story too.

Anyway, here’s what happened one evening.  Tom was giving a guitar lesson.  The student brought along a friend, and then, like me, people just started dropping in.  Most of these people were musicians.  Somebody brought a bottle of wine, somebody else brought beer, and pot also got into the mix.

Before long we were all seated in a circle on Tom’s floor, and a guitar was was being passed around, with everyone demonstrating their musical skills, playing, and playing and singing.  When the guitar was passed to me, I immediately gave it to the fellow next to me.  I didn’t know the guy, just met him that night.  And, of course, I don’t remember his name, but he was one of Tom’s guitar students, one of his more promising students.

This fellow took up the guitar and strummed a series of dramatic chords.  Then he launched into a rendition of the old sea shanty, “What do you do with a drunken sailor?”.  And between choruses he told his story.

What do you do with a drunken sailor, etc., etc.

I always wanted to learn to play the guitar, but I never got around to it.  So if I wanted to learn, I thought I’d better get to it.  I heard about this guy, Tom.  He had a guitar for sale, and he gives lessons.

What do you do with a drunken sailor, etc., etc.

I bought the guitar, and I began lessons.  Tom was a nice guy, and a good teacher, but I kept waiting for him to make a pass at me.  I don’t know why.  I just had a feeling.

What do you do with a drunken sailor, etc., etc.

Then one time I phoned Tom to say I couldn’t make it my lesson.  He said that was okay; he’d come to my apartment.  He was insistent that my lessons not be interrupted, because I was doing so well.   I agreed, but I was a little nervous.

What do you do with a drunken sailor, etc., etc.

Tom looked around my apartment and spotted a picture of a pretty girl.  Who’s this, he asked, your sister?  No, I said.  It’s my fiancé.  Oh, Tom said, then you are not gay.  No, I said, and I’m guessing you’re not either.  No, I’m not, said Tom.

What do you do with a drunken sailor, etc., etc.

And we went on to have a great lesson.  At the end of the lesson Tom said I was doing really well, but I couldn’t tell how well I was doing because of my cheap, crappy guitar.  And he happened to have a more expensive one that was just what I needed.

What do you do with a drunken sailor, etc., etc.

I said, Tom, kiss me.  He said, wait a minute, we’re not gay, we just went all through that.  I know, I said, but you’re trying to screw me, and I don’t want to be screwed without being kissed!

He ended with a chord flourish, and he passed the guitar along.