X Dell: [ L], I just heard you were laid off.  I’m so sorry.  Is there anything I can do?
L: Oh, [X], relax.  I’ve always known how to survive.
--1993 conversation.

Last week, I got into a nostalgic mood, reminiscing about all the high times and comradery with “the old gang.”  I thought to Google some of my old pals, find out what they were up to, perhaps send them an e-mail or two.  Many of them had gone on to do some wonderful things.  In some cases, their small children had grown into adults.  Other friends had been promoted to senior positions.  Reading about their successes was a lot of fun.

The fun suddenly turned into horror when two of the search queries turned up obituaries. 

I wanted to believe that there had been some mistake.  Perhaps the obituaries were of other women with the same, or similar names.  After all, these two took care of themselves.  They were both far too young to die.

Unfortunately, I could confirm L’s passing all too easily.  Going to Find a Grave, I read a brief biography (which I could have written myself).  The site posted a photograph, too.  Those familiar brown eyes staring back at me, the lips drawn into the warm smile that has kissed this face more often than I can count--it was her.  The site also posted a picture of her final resting place.  Strange.  The last place you’d expect to find a woman so full of life is six feet under.

L studied drama at the University of Texas, and was a part of Austin’s hippie scene of the 1960s, along with such notables as Janis Joplin and Willie Nelson (she was a big fan of his).  She left her native San Antonio, and came to New York to ply her trade on the stage.  Of course, like many actors, she got sidetracked from her dream, and ironically found herself working up the executive ladder of corporate filmmaking. 

Nevertheless, L found some success plying her other talents, mostly in the area of visual art and photography.  I remember her laughter as she told me the story of the first serious display of her work.  It was a show featuring female artists of color.  On the day that should have been one of the triumphs of her life, her then-boyfriend decided to dump her.  Consequently, she couldn’t enjoy the reception.  As she sat alone, weeping, a man approached her and asked her what was wrong.  She spent the next hour spilling out her sob story about the rotten boyfriend, his rotten timing, and so on, literally crying on the shoulder of this stranger. 

The man had come to support his wife who also had work in this show.  Her name was Yoko.  His name was John.

L cackled to no end telling that story.  After all, she was a Beatlephile.  So, she finally met her idol, but couldn’t do anything more than be miserable. 

Of course, when L told me this, I had alreadty read Albert Goldman’s biography of John Lennon, and was still strongly affected by it.  This would be the first of many stories that led me to change my opinion of the man.  So, as you can see from the Lennon series, L has had some influence on The X-Spot.  I thought of her when posting each item.

One story that typifies L, in a nutshell, was the time me and my ex (?) spy friend were chatting at our favorite watering hole.  A couple came in, and sat in the corner.  Another couple came and sat beside them.  Although both couples primarily spoke Spanish, I could see they were having difficulty communicating with each other.

Then L walked in, just off from work.  She realized the problem right away.  The first couple was from Mexico.

Apparently, Mexican Spanish is somewhat quirky, and a lot of hispanophones have difficulty understanding it.  As a proud Texas Chicana, L knew Mexican Spanish like the back of her hand.  And after living in Manhattan for so many years, she spoke fluent Nueva Yorker.  So, as odd is this might sound, she volunteered her services as a Spanish-to-Spanish translator for the night.  Right away, the couple had a lively discussion about visiting America, with me and the ex (?) spy friend getting in on the conversation (she translated into English for us).  It all worked so seamlessly, too.  Sometimes we even forgot that she was translating, and began speaking directly to each other.

Then, three Parisian businessmen came in.  It was at this point that we found out that L also spoke perfect French--without a hint of a Texas drawl!  Hell, she can’t couldn’t speak English without a twang. 

So there she is, translating into and out of Spanish, Spanish, English and French when the Japanese tourist came in. 

You guessed it.  L spoke Japanese better than he did (I say that because he stuttered).

So if you can picture all this, we had this wildly fun night conversing with people who couldn’t speak our language or anyone else’s.  And it was all because of L.  You see, she had a knack for bringing people together--especially remarkable compared to nowadays when we’re so easily torn apart by ideological polarities and marketing demographics.  But there was more to it.  She had an enthusiasm for living, a sunniness instilled in her from the hippie days that never left her.  And it was so infectious. It’s kinda difficult to explain, but everything seemed to be better when she was around. 

Of course, L always went out of her way to let me, X. Dell, know that I meant something to her--whether we were out on the town, or hanging out by ourselves at her place writing songs.  She had an even greater love for humanity, and a fierce determination to live within her own moral code.  I always admired and respected her for having the courage to be herself.  After all, you can take the girl out of Texas, but you’ll never take Texas out of the girl.  Besides, I draw comfort in the fact that sometimes a flower child remains a flower child.  Even if you dress her up in a navy pinstripe business suit.  Even if gray hairs one-by-one replace the black ones.

Unlike many an artistic “type,” she was as non-pretentious and genuinely empathetic as our species gets. To say that she was a good woman is not only hackneyed, but grossly understates what she was. Quite simply, I’ve never met a more beautiful soul in this life.  I doubt I ever will.

As is it goes with life, things kinda came full circle for L.  Nine months before her death, she co-starred in an off-Broadway play, and got a very favorable reaction from the critics at The Village Voice and The New York Times.  Her obituary (which I’m sure she wrote herself) whimsically stated “As the final curtain came down for [L] her life received rave reviews and resounding applause from New York City to San Antonio.” 

That’s both literally and metaphorically true.  I wonder if she can hear me, somewhere in the background, yelling “Encore!  Encore!”