For Auld Lang Syne, Martin

Have you ever wondered what 'Auld Lang Syne' means? The old Scottish melody roughly translates as 'times gone by', and pre-dates Robbie Burns' 1788 poem. Only the names and lesser details have been altered in this true story. Perhaps you have one like it too?

****

I've been expecting bad weather and it's moving in. The sky has changed from gray to white. But I should be fine as long as I drive carefully, because I'm less than a half hour out.

Marybeth warned me about this, the danger of a crowded highway in a blizzard. News footage of white-outs and massive pile-ups should scare anybody off the roads.

It's harder to see now, and the expressway is becoming slippery. Snow drives straight into my windshield, and to make it worse, my eyes are bleary. I'm returning from a monthly visit in the next county with my old friend Martin.

The car radio is playing holiday favourites, this one featuring a soulful singer backed by a mournful clarinet. My eyes are wet as I hum the familiar tune, the second time this has happened today.

G D Em C

Should old acquaintance be forgot/ And never brought to mind?

G D Em C G

Should auld acquaintance be forgot/ And days of auld lang syne.

Auld Lang Syne: The times gone by were so much better for Martin. Now that his life has turned sour, what can he look forward to as another year rolls around? More of the same or a steady descent? The thoughts plague me.

It has been a tough visit and I just want to get home.

****

Earlier that day:

"Don't leave too late coming back, Tim. A storm is coming, with wind and blowing snow starting late afternoon. And there'll be plenty of traffic just before New Years...."

"Thanks, Hon- I'll leave by 3:00. Love you." I kiss Marybeth, on my way for lunch and an afternoon with our long time friend.

The hour and a half drive is uneventful except for the traffic volume, half of it big transports. Christmas music on the radio fills the background as my mind wanders back to earlier days with Martin. I've known him almost half my life- for more than twenty-five years, back to when we were in our prime.

We hadn't met before, but a there was a mutual friend, Sylvia, an outgoing woman our age. I worked with her husband Roger at the time. One afternoon I was having a coffee with them when Martin happened by. He came over to say hello to her, and she invited him stay for a cup. Sylvia quickly noted our common interest in football.

That summer, Martin and I attended a few matches, sometimes with Roger and Sylvia. Over drinks afterward, we would talk a bit of shop. She mentioned more than once how difficult it was for the company she managed to complete orders for lack of small parts. Someone local could do well by supplying the bits and pieces required, rather than her company relying on foreign imports.

Martin and I had engineering backgrounds, so we took the bait. The manufacturer outlined their requirements and we proposed ways to help them. Before long we transitioned into it full-time. Soon we were expanding and recruiting specialized people. The sky was the limit and we reached for it.

Our friendship grew along with our business. Times were good all around. Martin and his wife, Louise, bought a lakeside cottage, where Marybeth and I were guests several times. Occasionally we travelled down south together too, after our kids were adults. They didn't have any of their own. Of course, I never asked why.

It's safe to say that we are the best of friends. We trusted each other to take care of certain parts of the business, and worked together to move it in one direction. I have other good buddies, but nobody as close as Martin. I'm sure that he feels the same way because we confided in one another like family. Those were good years.

Eventually I arrive at the residence and Martin greets me at the front door with a man-hug. We'd always been conservative about shows of affection, but in recent years that changed. When Louise was terminal, Marybeth and I were frequently with him. He's alone now and welcomes some closeness.

As usual, we go to the little cafeteria off the lobby for late-morning coffee and tea. Conversation quickly falls into the normal pattern of my monthly visits.

"So, Martin how have you been the past four weeks?"

"Not bad. Day-to-day. Been watching lots of World Cup. Great games!" His face lights up because this is his favourite topic.

"Yeah, that final was incredible, wasn't it?" I reply. "Maybe the best match I've ever seen. Back and forth like that right to the end,"

"Yeah. Wish England made the final."

"There's always next time, right?" and he nods in agreement.

We talk about soccer for a while, until that conversation lags. Then we're on to holiday food.

"Did you have a big Christmas feast here last week?"

"Turkey. All the trimmings. Pudding. They opened the bar for a wee dram."

"You had some scotch! With your meds?"

"Once in a while. I'm allowed that much," Martin said wistfully- or bitterly, I couldn't tell.

"Did you see your cousin too?"

"Another big supper. A bird and ham. Big group. Didn't know many of them."

"And your nieces? Did you spend time with them there?" I know he's fond of the two little girls.

"Yeah. They sang for us. Very nice." He looked off into the lobby and didn't say any more.

I'm working hard to keep things going. Then I remember that New Years Eve is just a day away.

"Will you be having a big supper here tomorrow like usual, Martin? I'll bet they do it up right."

"More food. Maybe they'll open the bar again."

"And will there be some entertainment too? A party or a movie? Something fun? They did that last year."

"Yeah. Those stupid damn hats! Hate that!"

This is how our visits usually go lately. I almost have to come armed with a list of topics because he loses interest. Sometimes I feel like a journalist with a subject who doesn't have much to say. But, I suppose not much really happens in here.

"Are you spry enough to go out for lunch today? And some errands, if you need to pick up anything?"

"Pretty good day. I'll take my walker."

Parkinson's is steadily claiming Martin, his medication fighting valiantly to slow its advance. And to think that as a younger man he raced in marathons! Just a dozen years ago, he still ran several kilometres every week, all year round. After Louise died, the muscle cramps and stiffness started and it only gets worse. Sometimes he can hardly move. Other times he's as loose as a puppet on strings.

When I visit Martin, I feel grateful for my good health. I was never much of an athlete like him, fit and fast. Now he pokes along with a walker. He must think about those glory days and what he has lost. It has to be difficult facing the inevitable. I feel myself getting emotional and clamp it down.

"Let's go then. I'll put that contraption in the back. Here, let me help you with your coat."

"Thanks, Jim," he mumbles. Then we sign out and climb into the car.

"Anywhere in particular? Do you have a favourite today?" I ask, meaning the restaurants and fast food joints where we've eaten over the past half dozen years, back to when his wife was alive.

Martin thinks for a while. "That place where they play darts. Good food."

Fifteen minutes later we slide into a booth with a view of everything going on. Martin likes the hustle and bustle of the place, so different from the quiet rhythm of his residence. He smiles and nods at people as if he knows them or saw them when we were here a few months ago.

He complains. "Nice to get out. Hate how they watch me. Signing out. Just like a bloody prison!"

"They have to. Remember, they're responsible for you, right? They don't mean any harm," I gently remind him.

"I suppose. But I don't have to like it."

Martin is hungry and I know what he ordered last time we were here, so I change the topic.

"How about some of their curry today, Martin. I'll bet they never serve that at your place, eh?"

"Great! Get a hot one," he brightens. "And a pint too. You won't tell?"

"But you just had scotch the other day. Your meds. How about a half pint? I'll do the same and we'll keep it secret."

"OK, sure," he shrugs in resignation. "I'll make it last."

Lunch and our beer soon arrive, and we chat while we eat. He's having some trouble with the cutlery- manual dexterity is a problem- but he manages.

"We were really in the right place at the right time, weren't we," I comment, a reference to our chance meeting long ago, which led to our flourishing business.

Martin looks bewildered. "What?"

"That day Sylvia introduced us, and it ended up in our business arrangement. We did very well with it, didn't we partner?"

"Oh yeah. That was good."

"Certainly was. Perfect timing, I'd say. The economy was booming, and it carried us right along with it."

"We were lucky."

"Probably, but we were good too. And when we sold out a while back, the situation couldn't have been better, right?"

"Yeah, we were good."

This is like pulling teeth.

"Now we're pretty much set for life from that business."

As soon as I finish saying that I realize my mistake. But it's already out there, festering. Martin scowls, no doubt thinking that it's easy for me to feel that way. I have my health. I have my wife. I have my freedom to come and go. He's lost it all.

"Sorry Martin. I take that back. I just meant that we're financially set."

"OK Jim. No problem."

I wince.

After lunch and watching darts we still have time for some shopping. But I'm keeping a close eye on the time because of the developing winter storm. The sky is already becoming a more ominous shade of gray.

"We can browse some books and have tea if you like. It's already 2:00."

Martin grins at my suggestion because we often go to the big bookstore. Both of us like to read and talk about current events, though I've noticed his choices changing this past year or so. Instead of the heading straight for the History and Politics section, he now browses through the graphic novels.

He finds a good one, and wrestles his wallet out to pay. I watch him fumble with the thin paper money and wonder why he doesn't use a credit card? Then I remember that it requires a four-digit pass code.

Afterward, we chat some more as we sip our tea in the adjoining shop.

"Can we go to the Garden today?" Martin asks hopefully.

"Uhh... next time, OK? A storm is coming so I need to leave soon."

"It won't take much time."

I know that the Gardens is half way across town, at least fifteen minutes each way. We couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry, Martin. I should have asked you earlier, because there isn't time."

"I miss her. All alone now...."

"I'm so sorry. I know. She was a fine lady- the best. I promise we'll go next visit"

"Now it's just me," he pleads.

This is awful! The poor guy will start the New Year with people he hardly knows. He'll eat well and be cared for. He'll have a full activity programme. Our business success will provide everything- except his health, his independence and the one he loved.

We sit listening to the seasonal music in the background. Someone is singing Auld Lang Syne and the nostalgic lyrics match the emotions churning inside me. I'm breathing hard and feel like I'll burst at the seams.

Suddenly I push my chair back and jump to my feet. I must leave so he doesn't see! I don't want him upset too. Not right here.

"S'cuse me, Martin. Toilet break. Back soon."

He doesn't notice my quavering voice. "OK. See you."

I'm in a hurry and turn too fast, knocking the table with my knee, sending half my tea over the edge. Martin has already finished his drink, so only my trousers and the carpet are wet.

"Ah shit!" I swear too loudly, and everyone looks over at me before they resume their conversations.

I rush to the toilet and when inside, I bury my face in my hands to hold it in. I feel wretched. Martin has changed so much, so fast. My good friend is a different person every time I see him. It's so hard to connect like before, and it will only get worse!

I picture myself in his shoes and it's overwhelming. All alone in the world. Trapped in a place where people spend their final years. How can Martin deal with this? How would I feel in his place? Jeez! I'm having a hard enough time just handling HIS situation!

I'm gasping for breath when somebody comes into the room and stares hard at me. He probably thinks that I'm choking on some food.

"Hey, are you alright?"

I take my hands away and draw in some fresh air before responding.

"I'm OK now. Got it out. All good. Thanks."

He lingers a bit watching me, just to be sure. After a couple of minutes, I splash my face with cold water, then dab at the tea stains on my trousers with a paper towel. After drying off, I practice a smile, then amble back to our table. Martin looks up at me, none the wiser.

"Ready to go, now?" he asks and I nod.

We're back at his place just before 3:00. He looks tired from our afternoon out and I know that he'll need a nap before going down to supper. There's time for a big hug and I pat his back reassuringly.

"Hang in there my friend. Things will be brighter in the New Year," I lie.

"I hope so." But he knows it won't get any better.

"Goodbye for now, Martin. And, God bless."

"Bye, Jim."

I cringe.

****

I'm almost home, and just in time. Snow is starting to drive hard in front of me, making it difficult to see. But I'm off the expressway now and moving more slowly through the back streets. Marybeth meets me at the door with a hug.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd beat the weather. Glad you made it."

"Barely. It was getting slippery on the highway."

"Tim, how was Martin today?"

"Kept calling me 'Jim'. That says it all."

"Ohhh... that's too bad. Terrible! As if Parkinson's isn't enough to cope with... You're his best friend, you know. We can't walk away from this."

"No. It wouldn't be right."

"You're going next month, eh? I'll visit him too. I haven't seen Martin since that nice picnic we had last summer."

"He'd like that. And your company would be great. I felt miserable coming home- like I'd left him on his own for the next month."

"So, how are you feeling now?"

"Glum. I could use some cheering up."

"Now... or later?"

"Hmm. I'll take both."

"Good. Here's a little down payment on later."

Marybeth took me in her arms and kissed my mouth long and hard, before coming up by my ear.

"This will make you feel better. The grandchildren are coming for a sleepover tomorrow night. They bugged their Mum and Dad about how much fun they had last New Years Eve. Stayed up with you to see the big ball drop. Danced around and you all kissed at midnight...."

I step back with some alarm.

"I hope they didn't say we watched New Years Rocks! I had the remote ready in case the hostess was indecent. She used to be a kid's TV star, but now she's pretty outrageous on stage and off."

"Riley? Tossing her butt around and worse?"

"That's the one. Fortunately she was OK when we saw her last year. The kids surprised me. They knew the music and sang along sometimes."

"Well, their Mum and Dad are going to have a quiet New Years Eve with them over here. You know what that means."

"Ohhh, yes." I remembered those days. "This year you'll have to stay up to join us. It was fun. We'll get crazy hats and noisemakers and..."

"Sure. I'll have a nap in the afternoon, so I don't fall asleep early like last year."

"Hey, I think they're old enough to learn the song for midnight too."

"Auld Lang Syne?"

"We'll teach them the words."

The next evening the kids come over. They're so excited that they're literally bouncing off the walls. We calm them down enough to learn the song, then gather around the television for snacks and music. Soon the countdown begins and we're all on our feet in anticipation. The big ball starts to drop.

"FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!"

We hug and kiss, then join the revellers on TV in song. The grandkids remember the lyrics, right to the end.

G D G C

For auld lang syne, my dear/ For auld lang syne.

G D Em C G

We'll take a cup o' kindness yet/ For days of auld lang syne."

We all hold hands, singing together, but my mind drifts off someplace else. I'm wondering what Martin is doing tonight.

As the voices end, I silently swear my New Year's resolution:

"You won't 'be forgot', good old friend. We'll be with you.

For the days of Auld Lang Syne, Martin.

For Auld Lang Syne."