Competition from a howling wind and the rapid rhythm of hard crashing waves were making it difficult to hear the solemn vows of matrimony. In its’ own words, Gaspirilla Island was stamping her mark on this first day of November. The attendees of Al Matthews and Gretchen Krieg’s wedding ceremony had traveled from 21 different states of the Union to be in this spectacular setting right on the edge of the Gulf of Mexico. As I sat attempting to listen to the rituals that consummate a marriage, I was confident that no one had come from as far away as I had.
I peered between the throng of heads seated in front of me and got a glimpse of the large wedding party standing at attention. A few inches above everyone was Todd Krieg, and next to him was his wife Liz, both of whom I had not seen since their own wedding day. For the first time I saw the couple’s daughters, Gretchen and her bridesmaid sister, Katherine. With ease I was able to pick out Todd and Liz’s son Sam. He was a spitting image of the young man who’s wedding party I was a member of 30 years ago. I craned my neck to the right to watch the ocean water slap the sandy beach. Now, much like the waves, the present moment and the future were coming at me.
I had not come to this island in Paradise chasing a ghost. I had not come looking for answers. I would not allow myself any kind of regret or remorse. This wedding weekend was about celebrating moving ahead. Since arriving late Thursday, I had enjoyed a round of golf with three of Todd’s best golfing buds from Milwaukee. Four lone wolves without their wives for the weekend exchanging tales of ancient lore while competitively battling on the links. We played at the Gaspirilla Country Club where Todd has been a member and club champion for several years. I saw the beach house where Todd and Liz live nine months of the year. Right next to it was the house Todd bought for his parents 10 years ago. Todd’s sister, Stacey, and I were in the same high school class, a year older than Todd. Stacey and I talked and reminisced like only two friends from adolescence can. We drank ,danced, and laughed Halloween night away to the wee hours of the morning. It was clear to see Todd had come so far from our little town in New Paltz. It was more than apparent he was loved by longtime loyal friends and family. He had made a life for himself that I remember him imagining as a teenager.
All weekend I enjoyed the role of pseudo celebrity author. Everyone close to Todd wanted to discuss “You Can’t Do Both”, especially the chapter about Todd. I reveled as the questions went on and on: “Were you really jealous of Todd? I have a copy in my room, will you sign it? Is the part about Courtney really true?” How can I get a copy?” Mostly they asked me questions about my old friend they all knew and admired. They had only discovered him after he came of age and peppered me with inquiries about his youth. I gave them the answers they wanted to hear . I always love the attention but the truth was I was beyond talking about the past. On this night I worked hard at staying in the present.
It was deep into the unusually cool Florida night as the band was blasting the early 70’s hit ‘American Pie’. I slid off the dance floor, sweat pouring off me, looking for a drink. The bartender saw me coming. “Another Stoli and tonic sir?” As I nodded my approval, he handed me my 6th drink of the night. My old buddy had been busy performing the role of the perfect host. We had seen each other only briefly the day before at the golf course and at the pre-wedding reception. We had hugged and shook hands but had exchanged very few words. Now I turned away from the bar and bumped directly into a ghost. At that moment, the past and the gap of years in between were gone and we could feel the present.
“Still drinking Stoli and tonics”, Todd said with a laugh. “Actually before tonight I hadn’t drank one in years.” He shook his head. “Now I know why Stolichnaya stock has dropped significantly over the past 20 years.” We slapped each other on the back and traded a few good natured one liners. As the party danced on we grabbed a seat next to each other. I had not come 1,000 miles looking for a private audience ,but now I had one. We probably had no more than 5 minutes alone.
Just enough of our exchange was direct, but much of it consisted of words unspoken. Through the distance of time, the love and respect was still there. It was surreal that we were in the same room together and that room held his daughter’s wedding reception. We hinted at playing a strong back nine together. As Todd got ready to head back to his numerous duties, he leaned in closer. “Remember drinking in the Thesis? We would sit there for hours discussing everything. You loved to sit and look out the big picture windows. You said we were on the inside looking out. You told me to watch the street light for a while. No matter the weather, who dies, who wins or loses the light keeps changing, it never stops. You asked me to never forget life is short- live it that way. I have always tried to follow your simple advice. I loved you then and I love you now.” He stood up, put his hand my shoulder and said ‘Thank you.’ I knew exactly what he meant. We were so different. We were so much the same.
Todd disappeared amongst the party guests. I was left to hurry to the beach and be alone by the soothing sound of the sea. The ocean mist that ran down my face could not cover the trace of tears I had wasted over the years. I thought about the street light in New Paltz and how it was still rotating colors. Just like the waves that continuously turn over. It had been way too long, but I was sure that my pain and my tears were at last carried out by the waves.
