Where Have You Gone, Joe Dimaggio? - Part III

That afternoon Roger walked up to me at the bus stop, holding the card that I had slipped into his locker. "Is this yours?" he asked. Smiling, I replied, "Nope, it's yours, if you want it." Roger looked at the card longingly. "I don't know. I mean, I..." "Listen, you don't have to take it. I just thought, well, you know, after yesterday and all." Roger looked up. "He's always been my favorite, you know." I did. "Yea, I figured." I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. "Look," I said, turning the card over, "it's even got all of his statistics and stuff on the back." And with that, Roger and I were no long arch enemies. In fact, we became rather good friends. During the next few weeks, Roger, Bob and I spent all kinds of time together. Bob had been a reluctant convert, but I finally convinced him that Roger wasn't as bad as he thought. It was a strange experience to pal around with someone whose demise I'd plotted just days before, but I finally realized that Roger was crying out for help. All he really wanted was a friend to lean on. For three solid weeks, I tried my best to be the friend that he never had. "Excuse me?" I couldn't believe my ears. "We're not inviting him to the party." Lisa was the sweetest girl I had ever known, but right then I would have traded her in a heartbeat for a stack of jelly beans. "Why not?" I bellowed. She scrunched up her nose. "Listen, the rest of the kids don't want him there. They don't like him." "So what? He's a nice guy," I insisted. "That may be so," she continued, "but they say that anyone who fools around with drugs is not welcome." "I can't believe you all would do this," I said. "I'm sorry," she said. "But this is pretty final." I looked at the floor, mouth hanging open wide. I shook my head. "Well, then, this is final, too. Unless Roger is invited, I'm not coming, either." Lisa's eyes shot open wide. "You're not serious, right?" "You just let me know what your decision is, ok? I'll see you sometime," I said as I shut the door behind me. When I told Roger what I'd done, he only laughed. "Man, you shouldn't have done that!" he said. "I understand. Don't sweat it. I'll find something else to do. It's no big deal." "Roger, I can't," I protested. It's just not right." "Hey, man, there are a lot of things in this world that aren't right," he replied. "Was it right for you to hit me with that fast ball?" I hung my head. That shot hit me right in the heart. "And for that matter, was it right for me to taunt you after I hit that home run off of you?" I didn't say anything. "I'm used to it, man. It's no big deal. Hey, I appreciate what you tried to do, but I don't want you to lose all of your other friends over it. It's not that important. Besides, Carl Tacey wants me to go to a concert with him that night. I'll be fine." "But it's still not right," I said. Roger chuckled. "Maybe not," he said, "but it's not that big of a deal. We'll still be friends long after this party's over, right? That's what's important." Dancing was never my favorite thing to do as a kid. I always thought it should be left for the girls. But that's all Lisa ever wanted to do at these neighborhood parties. Needless to say, I was not in the dancing mood. "What are you doing over here in the corner?" Lisa's knees would buckle and eventually give way when she saw the tiniest spider, but when it came to anything else, she went after it with both hands. "I don't really feel much like being sociable tonight," I replied. "I'm sorry." "Would you dance with me just once?" she asked. "Please?" Now, if it had been anybody else, I wouldn't have thought twice. But since it was Lisa, I could not find the word "no" in my vocabulary. Before I knew it, I found myself on the dance floor swaying to Bill Haley and the Comets. The record player was loud, people were laughing and screaming all around us. The dance floor was packed, but as far as I was concerned, we were the only ones in the room. I felt much better in her arms. When the phone rang at about ten o'clock, I'd almost completely forgotten about Roger. Lisa and I were sharing a beanbag chair, Bob and Roxy were sitting on the couch, and a bunch of other kids were just standing around. Lisa answered. "Hello? Yes, m'am." She turned to me. "It's for you. It's your mom." I don't remember many of the details of the conversation. I do remember that she said that Roger had been in a car accident. He'd died on the way to the hospital. He was on his way home from a Simon and Garfunkel concert he'd gone to because he couldn't come to the party. About a quarter of a mile from home, the driver of the car fell asleep and crashed into a telephone pole. Everyone in the car but Roger survived. The party kind of died out after I broke the news to everyone. Bob and I sat dumbfounded for awhile before the anger hit me with a vengeance. "You see!" I yelled between the tears. "You see what happened? Are you all happy now that he's dead? Now you won't have to invite him to any of your stupid parties!" Everyone looked at the floor. I sobbed, but still found the strength to speak. "All Roger ever wanted was a friend," I said, a little more quietly. "He never asked for anything else. Just a friend. And instead of that we all treated him terribly. Did it ever occur to any of you that he used drugs because no one would be his friend? He was just lonely." It turned out that everyone in the car but Roger had been smoking marijuana that night. His mom, who had been aware of his problems, told me that he'd given all of that stuff up about the time we'd started doing stuff together. He'd been turning his life around. Life's way too short to waste it over petty disagreements and misunderstandings. Maybe Roger was different than me and the rest of the kids in school, but looking back, I can see that many times he was just crying out for someone to help him. Maybe instead of holding out a fist to him all the time, we might have been able to save him if we'd just held out a helping hand instead. When I got home from the party, I turned on the radio. The first lyrics I heard were from a Simon and Garfunkel song called "Mrs. Robinson." "Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you. What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson? Joltin' Joe has left and gone away." The significance of those words slammed into me like a runaway semi. Joltin' Joe was gone and I'd never see him again. I cried myself to sleep that night and for many nights thereafter. Roger's face still pops into my head whenever I hear that song. At the funeral, his mom handed me the card I'd given him our first day as friends. I still keep it in a frame above my desk. The colors are somewhat faded, but the message to me still rings loudly every time I look at it. People need my help. That's why I'm here in the first place, to help people, to love them, to do what the Savior would do if he were here. I'm no better than anyone else, no matter what their circumstances may be. Roger's been gone for nearly thirty-five years now and I still wish I could talk to him just a little bit more. But that isn't to be. So, now I turn my focus to all of the other Roger Lewises I have in my life today, and I try to help them and I try to understand. And somehow, I do.