Monday, on a flight from Chicago to Columbus, I sat next to Elvis.
Well, sort of.
I sat next to a startling Elvis look-alike, an actor/musician playing the part of Elvis in a musical currently running in Chicago. He and a few more cast members were on the flight. The others were sitting in the two rows behind us.
It was challenging to focus on the book I was trying to read (interestingly enough, a book on gratitude*), because they were a bit of a rowdy bunch, real jokesters. The one-liners were fast & furious. I couldn’t help but listen to them, smiling all the while.
Today, I am thankful for the reminder that everyone has a story to tell; everyone is fighting some kind of battle.
The actors’ conversation wound its way to comparing the metropolitan environment of Chicago to the green fields they saw as we approached Columbus. They were happy to see the rural environs, though they would have like more hills. One of the men commented that his home state, Georgia, is just the prettiest place there is. He explained that the last time he was there was in July, when his brother died.
It turns out that his brother was a gay man who died of AIDS. He lived with HIV for many years, but he was deeply troubled by drug addiction, and that combination ultimately took his health in a downward spiral. He developed some kind of related cancer-like disease and, when diagnosed, was told that he had about four months to live. He died four months later, to the day.
The actor’s voice grew quiet, almost soft. He wasn’t laughing at this point. He somberly shared that he and his brother had not been close, only seeing each other maybe once a year, if that often. However, he did return to his beautiful Georgia about a month before his brother died and they had a great time together. It was a wonderful visit. It was the last time they saw each other. His brother was 44 when he died.
After a quiet moment or two, a comment was made that took the conversation in a completely new direction. The lightheartedness and laughter returned. The entire group started making up songs about silly things, feeding off one another, humoring all of us within earshot.
I hope I never forget how quickly the laughter turned to mournful sadness.
The person behind me was good looking, very quick with the one-liners, had a great singing voice and, apparently, a successful show biz career. Just looking at the outside, many people might even be envious. What a life, right?
But, looking a little deeper, he carries a sad, sad story in his heart.
You just never know.
