Dedicated to Paul Ford

August, 2014

Fair Winds and Following Seas

(traditional Naval farewell)

"Well… damn." I stared at the computer screen, unable—unwilling—to process what I was reading.

Friends.

Friendship.

So many variations on a theme…

I have people I've been friends with almost from the day my parents brought me home from Charles Drew Memorial. Laurie Peadie, my "bosom bow" from preschool onward… Dawson Carver, the only kid I knew in grade school whose parents were divorced (this was the early 60s, after all); we were devoted fans of the housekeeper his dad hired. She taught all three of us some amazing kitchen skills and Dustin even ended up head pastry chef at Eagles' Nest in Nantucket.

There were friends from high school and college, where we kept in touch with Christmas cards, sporadic letters and postcards and "I'm going to be in town next week, wanna get together for lunch?" fly-by visits. It was interesting to see how some people changed so radically—and how some people remained absolutely the same (plus a few extra pounds and wrinkles, that is).

Enter the 1980s and the internet. I discovered how to argue like my debate coach never thought I could. With the magic of copy and paste and internet research (pre-Wikipedia, no less) I became the queen of insomnia-fueled discussion and ended up with some longtime friends.

At least once a week someone posts a meme (I use the term but admit I'm still not 100% clear on the definition) on Facebook extolling the virtues of internet friendships. I "like" it every time. I have a hundred or more people I consider very good friends, not a one I've ever met in real life. And Arthur Dixon was on he top of the list.

Thanks to IMDb, I stumbled over a message board for the show CGIS. It's been on TV forever and I've been a fan since day one. Despite Ducky's "as if" snorts and Gibbs' out-and-out guffaws, it really is a good show. Think CSI on the water—and to keep it from getting monotonous, they occasionally mix it up with the FBI, CIA, local CSIs and even NCIS. (Gibbs laughed so hard I thought he'd have to be hospitalized on that one.)

Given that Arthur had grandkids Lexi's age and older and was right between Ducky and me age-wise, we became good friends almost instantly. When I mentioned I was "finally" getting married, he asked if he should be jealous—I told him to consult his wife. We batted back and forth online for over a decade and I even forgave him for introducing me to a time drainer as bad as Facebook: online fanfiction. (Boy, have things changed since the days I helped crank the mimeo machine for the old Shore Leave zine.)

And now…

Now…

I propped my chin on my hands and let out a long sigh.

"Are you mad at me, Mommy?"

I only jumped a little bit. Lexi is a born Ninja. "No, sweetie, I'm not mad. Well—I guess I am, kind of. But not at you."

"Who at?"

I didn't grump at the grammar. "Oh… fate, I guess." She looked puzzled. "I just found out that a friend of mine… died."

Her eyes widened. "Who….?" She asked, drawing out the word.

With a medical examiner for a father, she's neither unaware of or afraid of death. It's… one of those things. But she doesn't want to lose anyone, either, and we have a wide circle of extended family and friends. "No, hon, it's nobody you know." She almost visibly relaxed. "It's a friend of mine from online. Ah—you remember the coloring pages websites?" I clicked on a fresh tab and opened the "LEXI" list and scrolled down to Norse. A black and white line drawing of Odin popped up. "Arthur sent me all those links, all those cool sites, his grandkids liked to use them. We send each other funny things or interesting sites, I hadn't heard from him for a while, so I sent him an email with a bunch of LOL Cats and—" I realized I was rambling. "Well… his wife just let me know he—he passed away last week." I waited for the questions.

"Oh." She looked thoughtful for a long moment. "Can I print some stuff? May I print some stuff?" she corrected as I drew breath.

Kids. Between attention spans shorter than a gnat with ADD and no real feeling of loss, they bounce from topic to topic and rebound form bad news pretty quickly. (Supposedly when the eccentric Pomeranian lady (not cat lady) next door died, my then-five-year-old brother said, "Gee, that's sad, are we having meatloaf for dinner?" with no pause between thoughts.) I didn't comment or criticize, just said, "Yeah," and scooched my chair out of the way so she could point and click. Her "Thanks!" wafted back as she grabbed the stack of paper and bolted for the backyard. I shrugged and turned back to reading—and wishing the words would change. But they didn't…

I didn't see Lexi again until she came in for lunch, which she asked if she could take back to her art room. "So long as you don't get paint in the food or vice versa, I guess so. You're awfully busy out there, what are you doing?"

"Oh—just coloring…"

Not long after lunch, Liily, Ev and Charlie arrived. I was grateful for the backup; being it was Saturday, Suzy had the day off and Ducky had been called in on a case. It sounded like Lexi was going to do the unthinkable: pass up her afternoon walk with Grandma. Since Victoria can't go out on her own, I wasn't relishing pulling Lexi away from her masterpiece.

And I was right. When Lexi came in for a refill on food, Mother looked crushed when Lexi said she was staying home. Lexi grabbed her hand and tugged her down the hall and had a hurried, whispered conference; when they returned to the kitchen, Victoria was nodding understandingly and advised me that after she and Evelyn and Lily returned from their walk, "we" would be having tea in Lexi's Loft. I didn't relish schlepping food and drink out to the back of the garage, but I figured it was a one-time request and declined to comment.

Apparently "we" meant Mother, Lexi and Charlie. Charlie took control of the schleppage and politely banished her mothers to the house saying there wasn't enough room for all of us out there. (True enough.)

It wasn't until my assistance was needed that they emerged. "Lexi requires a manila envelope and cardboard backers—or a box—and an address," Charlie said formally.

"Um, sure. Whose address?"

"Mrs. Arthur." When I gave her a confused look, she clarified, "Her husband passed away his morning?"

"Oh—oh… That's Mrs. Dixon. And, yes, I have heir address."

I must have looked as puzzled as I still felt. "I wanted to tell her I'm sorry." Lexi held out a stack of papers.

I caught my breath on the first sheet. Dear Mrs. Arthur, read Charlie's neat handwriting. My name is Lexi Mallard. My mom is a friend of Mr. Arthur's. He was a good friend of my mom's and he sent a lot of neat websites with coloring pages for me. I want to share these with you to tell you I'm sorry. These are gods and goddesses of the underworld. They'll help him make friends so he won't be lonely. A tiny corner of my mind wondered if she had mentioned this polytheism to Fr. Parker. I hope you like them. In unsteady printing followed LEXI MALLARD. Then, PS, I know my mommy is sad, too. Then, PPS My Auntie Charlie helped me write this.

As I flipped through pages of Yama, Pluto, Hades, Mictecacihuatl, Hel, Ereshkigal, Anubis and the rest, smiling despite the tears, Charlie leaned over and murmured, "I suggested, 'I'm very sorry for your loss; but Lexi said, 'He's not lost, she know where he is!'"

I couldn't stop the laugh. "Did I do something wrong?" Lexi fretted, moving closer and peering at the pages.

"No, sweetie," I said, giving her a hug and dropping a kiss atop her head. "You did something very right. And I'm sure… Mrs. Arthur… will like them. Very much."

Good-bye, Chief. Sandy and I will miss you. I'm sure you'll be reading the next stories somehow, somewhere—but, oh, I just wish I could hear your feedback.