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James Died, Some time in March, 2012

I’m beautiful in my way
‘Cause God makes no mistakes
I’m on the right track baby
I was born this way.

    Lady Gaga

James died three weeks ago, or four.  I can’t remember.  Jesus called me that Sunday morning.  I drove to his house where we ate sausage, egg, and cheese bisquits and talked about James.  He and James had remained friends since their days at Lavernia elementary school; James was only 38.

As I sat with Jesus, his dad, and DiMarly that morning, we remembered James.  He liked big women, food, and selling things on eBay.  When James was working as a bank teller and had health insurance, his plan was to gain even more weight and become morbidly obese so that the insurance company would pay for bariatric surgery.  He lost his job but not the weight, about 370 pounds on a 5’7” frame.  He died of acute respiratory failure from causes unrelated to his weight.

James always smiled, a joy to be around.  Jesus told me that James wanted to be cremated, to have his ashes scattered over Biscayne Bay from his brother’s ultralight.  That’s what happened.

After the scattering, James’s estranged father took his car and personal possessions to Sebring, Florida, where he lives, for sale at a swap meet.  His schizophrenic mother, who lives in an institution, has not been told of her son’s death.

Sometimes I regret calling James ‘Fat Jimmy.”  But he understood it was not malicious.  He was one of the good guys.  And Jimmy, only the good die young.

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