The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine

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"Me n' Andy"

   I’d really like to tell you about this friend of mine. It’s weird. But before I tell you about him, I’ve got to tell you about our old group in high school. I figure that way you’ll get more of a feel for this friend of mine.

   There were five of us in the old group. We all graduated from high school about three and a half years ago. We had this group when we were in school. What a group! David played trumpet and trombone; another guy, Hal, played the drums; Scott, well, he played guitar and me, I played, or tried to play, my dad’s old saxophone. My friend that I’m gonna tell you about, Andy, well, he was our arranger and singer. Could that guy sing! His voice would make all the girls go wild. Anyway, we had a helluva good time together most of the time. Once in awhile we’d maybe want to ditch somebody because he didn’t come to rehearsal, but we’d always make it back together again.

   In high school we were all in stage band together and had this human being for an instructor. His name was Jacob Groh. He was something else—always helping everybody, giving every student, with talent or no talent, a chance. He was a short skinny guy with a little mustache, a goatee, glasses that slipped down his nose, and wrinkles. He made us work till we made the sounds he wanted. Then when we did, he’d grin and say, “ya-got-it, ya-got-it,” and maybe kind’a shove the kid closest to him. It’d make us feel smart as hell.

   In the beginning, when I was straining to get into the stage band, I had no talent, but I had persistence you could pour if you tipped me upside down. Good old Groh took me aside one day and said, “Joey, what’re we going to do with you? I don’t think you could play ‘Come to Jesus’ in the key of C.” He wasn’t being snotty. He was just stating facts. I told him that my buddies were all in Band, that I liked music plus having this old sax of my dad’s and could I please stay if I worked real hard? He looked at me so long and deep that I felt as if I grew an inch. Then he pulled at his goatee and said he guessed even if I didn’t have an eye or an ear for music, I still had the heart for it, so I could stay.

   Things changed after we got out of high school. We didn’t see Mr. Groh any more, and our group of five guys scattered, all doing different things, but we keep in touch.

   Hal, the drummer, he plays around the state with a group, and he’s in, what you might call, the drug scene. I don’t know what all he’s tried, but I guess he likes to blow his mind and feel cool on the drums.

   Then Scott, well, all I can say about him is that he thinks he’s the best of the red hot lovers. I guess you could put it that he’s big on the sex scene. You won’t believe this but that guy got so horny one night on his cycle driving along next to a cute chick in a VW that he signaled her to meet him at the next rest area. Well, you guessed it, they went at it right there in the rest area, then he had her follow him to a bar in the next town. He was bragging to me about it later, and I figured that guy was out of his skull.

   David was one of us, and well, we always called him “Arrow,” because he’s so straight. He’s regular, but does he get around. He goes to one of those colleges where they take trips once a year, so he’s been to Russia, he’s been to the Scandinavian countries, and a month ago he played with an orchestra in Vienna. Being the big thinker--I’m into the think scene, I guess, because I’m going to our local college and getting high on philosophy, psychology, and American Lit. and working my way taking pictures for the public relations department. And y’know I can’t help but wonder if maybe it pays off to be straight and regular. David’s got a steady girl, and would you believe it, he keeps it all private, I mean, what they do and what they say. Now that takes a guy like Arrow.

   Then there’s this friend that I started to tell you about and what’s going on with him. Well, Andy was the singer and arranger in the group, like I already told you. That guy could really sing. When we were in high school a cappella, he got most of the tenor solos. His voice reached out to people in such a cool way that I would watch them sit, not moving, not breathing, just waiting for Andy’s next note. That was the way he sang serious music. He was in a quartet too, and then he’d make his voice come out sexy--don’t ask me how! He had the lead in the musical we gave in our senior year, and I got the feeling that he could be big in TV some day. Mr. Groh told him he had this great talent for harmony and counterpoint and all, but Andy wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with his music, or with his life. ‘Course which one of us did, and how could we with the draft hanging over us and the goddamn war? We all sweated it out in various ways, though, till no more draft.

   Our group used to practice in Andy’s basement. We were loud, but Andy’s parents would just close the door and go on about their business and then compliment us all over the place when we came up. His mother would always have cookies or chips and soda for us and she and Andy’s dad didn’t warn us about spilling crumbs on the carpeting or breaking the chairs or anything. They didn’t even complain about our long hair and crummy blue jeans. I could actually feel them liking us--hair, noise, fights and all. The rest of our parents didn’t want us to practice in our homes because of the noise, plus they were scared we might mess up their magazine-picture houses.

   Now, three and a half years out of high school, Andy is right in the middle of what I have to call the death scene. Not that he’s dying. Well, that is, his body isn’t dying, but I don’t know what’s happening to him. The thing is, Andy’s mother is dying. She has cancer. But she has guts. She’s been willing to be a human guinea pig, you might say. She takes any of the new drugs they discover, and so far she has stayed alive, if you could call it that. She’s probably making a great contribution to medical science and all. I can’t help but admire her, but Jeez, I keep thinking, what’s it doing to Andy?

Continued
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