Steve and Zeke

Maybe most people have already forgotten about him down here. He wasn’t here that long, not long at all. He was just getting to know people. I haven’t forgotten him and want someone to know that I haven’t forgotten him. He made a very favorable impression on me and he is remembered.

Steve was thin, balding on top, wore glasses, a mustache, someone who wouldn’t stand out in a crowd if it were not for his companion, Zeke. Zeke was a German Shepard. Not just your ordinary German Shepard. Zeke was big…real big. If you were looking for someone to play the lead alpha wolf in a Great White North wilderness movie, Zeke was your dog. A dark, large, fierce looking but gentle, loyal companion.

Steve, Zeke in tow, was so happy. He had finally done it, finally reached a major goal stone. He had retired and moved to Puerto Vallarta. A lot of people retire and come here. Some seem pretty beat up, like retirement should have happened for them a number of years earlier. For some the scenery doesn’t change so much coming here, the inside of bar where everyone speaks English is not that much different from the inside of a bar where everyone speaks English wherever you come from.

Steve was really excited about his change. He exuded a zest and enthusiasm for his retirement. He had been burnt out in his job and craving free time and days with a lot of warm sunshine. He had waited and planned for this for some time. He had purchased a little, old, beat up VW, his Mexico car (his only car) to get around in. He had borrowed the money from his sister to purchase a modest condominium unit in the old part of town. For him, he was making a fresh start that he was going to make the most of.

I don’t know how long it was, a month? I don’t remember, not long, not long at all. No one had seen Steve in a few days which wasn’t remarkable. Then someone came in a said there were police cars in front of Steve’s place and it looked like something had happened. I walked up there with a friend of mine to see what was going on. I didn’t really think that it could be something that bad, probably it didn’t even have anything to do with Steve, a neighbor or something.

Yes, there were a number of emergency vehicles in front of Steve’s place and all the windows were open to his place which seemed a little strange somehow. And then the odor hit. I went up and asked one of the policemen what was going on. He asked me if I knew Steve and after I replied in the affirmative he broke the news. Steve was dead.

Wow, it couldn’t be. It was true. Steve had died. He had died of a heart attack, face down on his bed, fully clothed, Zeke by his side. Zeke had been locked inside with his dead master for three days.

I have had a number of friends and acquaintances die while I’ve been here but Steve’s death really affected me. There was something very sad in that Steve seemed to be just beginning to live after some rough patches in his life. He finally was where he wanted to be and boom it was all gone. At the same time I’m glad that if he had to die that he died having tasted something he really wanted. Sometimes these all too real wakeup calls shake you up a little. Where am I at?

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Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved.
Jimi Grant – Nopali Printworks
Puerto Vallarta, Mexico