The Parting Sky

This photograph of a sunlit evening sky will always hold a sorrowful memory for me. I took it on the night I spoke to my friend of more than thirty years, John Doyle, for the very last time. It was Wednesday, May 30th 2018, around ten p.m., in Beaumont, Dublin. John had been diagnosed with brain cancer in January 2017. He was on a journey and it was only heading one way.
I'd been out in Malahide earlier that evening and was making my way home down the M1 when the idea struck me (and I'm eternally grateful that it did!) to swing by John's to say a quick hello. As I drove off the motorway and into the suburbs, I couldn't help but notice the glorious tint in the sky, a purplish pinkish red that was a delight to see. I remember someone (Shane) in a WhatsApp group I'm a member of texted along the lines of 'Wow, has anyone seen that sky tonight?' Just to clarify, officer, I read the WhatsApp message while stopped at traffic lights.
No doubt about it, it was a standout sky. My photograph doesn't even do it justice. I parked my car around the corner from John's, climbed out and grabbed the shot with my phone. The sun was going down fast at this hour. As you can see, a man is entering the field with his dog for a walk. He actually, God bless him, eyed me suspiciously as I pointed my camera. Still, he walked on in and I'm glad he did for he (and his hound) make a nice addition to the picture.
I strolled round to John's and rang the bell. He answered promptly. His uncle was staying and out for the evening and I think John thought the doorbell was him. When he saw it was me he just said 'Hi, come on in'. He was bony and weak, and as the saying goes: A shadow of his former self. He seemed confused. He was sipping wine and smoking cigarettes (and more power to him is what I say to that!). He asked me how I was and what I was up to. I answered in short simple sentences but I'm not sure if he was following me. He didn't really seem in the mood for much conversation. YouTube was rolling on the smart TV in the corner. The Traveling Wilburys playing Handle With Care. We tapped our toes to the music. John piped up a little, pointing at Roy Orbison: 'He's dead' and at George Harrison 'And so is he' and at Tom Petty 'He's only dead a couple of months' and at Dylan 'He's the only one left!' It wasn't a time for factual correction so I didn't bother explaining that Jeff Lynne was still very much alive. We had a gentle laugh about the demise of this supergroup.
Next up YouTube, on its rolling loop, gave us While My Guitar Gently Weeps performed by an all-star lineup. It was the 2004 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. There's a reason this video has over sixty million hits and it's down to Prince's epic guitar solo where his guitar truly weeps the loudest. John and I sat mesmerized till the very end when Prince throws the guitar out into the audience and leaves the stage without the slightest goodbye to anybody.
It was time for me to go. I was glad that I'd called over but sad to see my friend so visibly unwell. He asked me if I would see myself out. I genuinely don't think he was up to getting off that couch again. 'No problem,' I said, leaning down and taking his hand. 'Love you, bro, I'll be over in June and stay the night. We'll make a night of it'. 'That'd be great,' he said.
When I got outside, about half ten, the beautiful sky was gone. Six days later John was gone. I never did get over to see him in June.

©Brian Ahern 2018