He'd been in a coma for a while now.
I didn't know for sure until I read it on the Facebook class reunion page. It took a while, but through a few messages, texts, and e-mails, I got hold of his wife and explained who I was and that her husband, George, and I had been childhood friends all the way through high school. Grace, his wife, explained to me that George was tooling around in the garage and stepped on a monkey wrench, which slipped out from under his foot. His legs kicked up in the air, and he hit his head on the concrete floor. He'd been in a coma ever since. That had been for about three months now. Grace was friendly enough to invite me over to their house, where I got to see George's life in photographs tucked away in albums or on his personal iPad. Their kids were all grown up but still living with their parents. The two met in Vegas, literally bumping into each other on the way to the same craps table. Grace had never played before, so George helped her until she won the jackpot by the end of the night. George, being his humble self, congratulated her and went back to his room. As the elevator doors were closing, Grace appeared and inserted herself into the cart."Market Street Cafe' is still open," Grace said. "Let me take you, it's the least I could do since you helped me win."
The two were inseparable for the whole two weeks they were there. George and Grace were shocked to learn they had grown up one block apart in Waipahu but had never met. It also turned out they knew the same people. "We married in Vegas," Grace said. "Right before he had that accident, he spoke to me about a mixtape that you made back in high school, and that you guys played until it wore out. Then you made another one, but you'd add on one more song every time."
I was stunned when Grace said that to me. I could only have hoped she'd believe me when I told her what I told her. "The whole reason I've been looking to get in touch with you is that a few months back, I had a dream that George came to me. He was standing in my bedroom, and he asked if I still had that mixtape from high school. He said he was lost, and that he needed to hear that mixtape so he could find his way back."
I shook my head and laughed when Grace disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a notepad and a pencil. "Not gonna use your Notes app on your phone?"
"Fuck that," she scoffed. "George always keeps it visceral."
We racked our brains for hours trying to remember the exact playlist. I'd do the searches online if I remember the lyrics and not the title. Grace wrote, jotted, hummed, and tapped the pencil on the cover of her notepad. Three whole days passed before we finally got every title correct, and the next step was now to re-create the mixtape, or what is now called a Playlist. Before we became elated and jumped up and down with glee, we first gave each other this blank stare.
"What do we do now?" She asked.
"I think we go play it for George," I replied. "I got earbuds for him to listen to."
The following day, I picked Grace up from her house, and on the way to the hospital, we prayed that if this was going to be a miracle, and that George would come out of his coma, we'd individually give up the one thing that was bad for us. For me, it was Palm corned beef after two in the morning. For Grace, it was her obsession with Korean soap operas.
"George was over it," she laughed.
***
Luckily, the nurses were fine with the earbuds if it would help George in any way possible. They were honest enough to let Grace and me know there were no guarantees.
"It's quite the playlist," Grace looked it over on my phone. "Can you add that one song from Boston? He liked that one too."
"That was actually part of the original mixtape." I can't believe I'd forgotten it.
"I can see why you guys listened to it all the time," Grace smiled. "It's a clear reflection of the times you guys grew up in." She nodded to me then, and I put the earbuds in as firmly as possible. Grace and I prayed again. I let her press the play button, and we hoped for the best. For the next sixteen hours, we played and replayed the song list over and over, hoping that George would sit up and yell at us to turn the music down.
No.
Grace and I fell asleep at some point, both of us sitting on opposite sides of George's bed. It was three forty-eight in the morning when I felt George pulling on my arm. I woke up, and there he was, sitting up against his pillow. "Dude! It worked! It worked!" I hugged him, crying.
"Thanks for the mixtape, man," he sighed. "It's just what I needed."
I reached over to shake Grace's arm, to get her up, but George stopped me. "Let her sleep, man, she's exhausted."
"Alright, but at least let me get the nurses," I explained.
"Shawn, hold on," he waved me back to sit on the chair. Which I did. "I needed that mixtape so I can pass on, not come back. It's why I've been holding on for this long. I knew you and Grace would figure it out. It means a lot, thanks, brother."
I woke up because Grace was shaking my arms; she was in tears. "George came to me and said the mixtape was..."
"So he could pass on," I finished her sentence. We both broke down, crying ugly until we finally called the nurses, but they were in the room already. All the monitors flatlined.
***
At George's services, it was like a class reunion. Everyone who was still around was there. The mixed tape played on the overhead the whole time. No eulogy. Just something that George wanted to listen to while he cruised to the other side.
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