 josh 
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that's one of my favorite names.
This weekend I went to Linthicum, Maryland to meet an old family friend, Ron, for lunch.
Ron knew my mom and dad before I was born. I believe he introduced them. When we moved down from North Dakota, we lived with him for a time on Vicarro St, and when I was 3 or 4, he sold us a puppy - my childhood dog, Spot - which was under a house on Leaway with its mother and siblings. Turns out, the dogs weren't even his. Years later, standing at a bonfire party at Vicarro, I experienced a moment of revelation as I realized that this place was the place I remembered so well from my childhood.
Throughout the years, Ron would pop back up from time to time. Going into business with my dad, traveling around the country, working for awhile, taking up with different women. He would make me tapes of music that he liked. He was happy when my musical tastes progress from all heavy metal to more grunge and rock stuff. When I was 14 or so, I made him tapes of Soundgarden and Nirvana. He was into it. I haven't seen him since then.
Now he is in Linthicum, staying at a Motel 6, because he is visiting doctors in Baltimore to find out if his leg - which was nearly destroyed in a motorcycle accident 20 years ago - will have to be amputated, or can be operated on.
He went to doctors in Shreveport, and they told him they would have to amputate. The first set of doctors he saw in Baltimore also told him they would have to amputate. My mother and I encouraged him to keep looking, after all, 20 years ago they said the same thing when his knee was shattered after a car hit it. Back then, they performed a pretty new type of surgery and reconstructed the knee with the help of a lot of pins and artificial joints.
But now the joints are wearing out and they are afraid the knee may be very infected.
"Man," Ron tells me, "it hurts so bad I can't even FUCK! I haven't had a piece of pussy in months." Ron lives in Mexico, on a resort island. About 10 years ago he moved down there because the cold makes his knee and hip (which also has a metal pin) hurt something awful. He loves it, his money goes a lot further. He lives on Isla, which he says has one of the world's top ten beaches. It's only cold two months out of the year there, and Ron doesn't have to work much. He mainly goes down to the topless beach, hangs out, and looks at the girls. Sometimes he does odd jobs, and for awhile he had a beach shop - selling sunglasses, shells, things like that.
I think that would be kind of a fun life for a dirty old man, sitting on the beach, selling seashells and drinking margaritas, watching the topless girls go by.
But now, Ron is stranded in a Motel 6 in the middle of nowhere, and his knee is very, very swollen. He can't put any weight on it all, it's hard for him to even shave. He uses a wheelchair to get around, a chair he hates more than anything in the world. He told me at lunch how he is looking forward to destroying the chair, no matter which way the doctors go with his treatment.
His choices are pretty simple : operation to rebuild the join and reinforce the joints, or amputation. A third choice, simply fusing the knee and leaving him able to walk with a limp, but whole, is out - the hip pin would be placed under too much strain and they say it would almost definitely cause big problems. The first set of doctors in Baltimore told him the operation process would take about a year, including recovery - something he can neither afford nor face. The newer doctors are giving him a much better prognosis, so it looks a bit up.
He tells me all this over steaks & beer. He pays for everything, and flirts with the waitress and barmaids. He tells them all that their name (whatever it may be) is one of his favorite names. As soon as they walk away, he talks about what a pretty young thing they are. I imagine him fitting in perfectly on the beach, admiring all the Mexican beauties and American coeds down for spring break.
Hopefully he'll be back there soon.
[ posted by josh at 07/12/2004 10:39:11 AM ] [ trackback ]
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