“I’m Jimmy Farrar’s (from Costco) sister, Susan Thomas. I think you are the Ruth that he talks with from time to time. If I have the right person, please let me know. I have some not very good news about Jimmy.”

The minute that message popped up on my iPhone, a feeling of doom came over me. More bad news. Not today, please. It had been a pleasant Sunday. Watching part of a granddaughter’s soccer game, spending time at the pool with a good friend, a pleasant surprise phone call from Lana, and looking forward to dinner out with the fam. And now this.

 Jimmy. Not him, too. We go back about 20 years. He’s part of the reason why I always joke that if I ever get romantic with anyone again, it would probably be someone that I’d run into at Costco, for lack of other opportunities.

Jimmy was a cashier at Costco. The first time I saw him, I pegged him at about 5-10 years older than me, gray hair, a little paunch, but nice looking, kind of like an ancient teddy bear – definitely datable. 

Problem was, he never looked at me. His eyes were always fixed to his cash register and even though I always made it a point during my Costco runs to go through his line, we never even barely made eye contact. Until the day I’d just picked up some photographs I’d dropped off to be developed – taken at a Willie Nelson concert at the Chicago House of Blues the week before. I’d also purchased two coffee table books on “Americana” music – one as a birthday present for my friend Bill, and one for myself. 

When he saw the books on the belt, Jimmy finally lifted his eyes from the cash register and looked at me.

“Are you into country music?” he asked.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Do you play an instrument?” 

‘No,” I joked. “Only CD’s. And you?”

“I’m taking guitar lessons,” he said, focusing on his cash register again. 

Wanting to keep the conversation going, I asked,

“So, who’s your favorite country singer?”

Without even blinking, he instantly said,

“Willie Nelson.”

Holding the envelope with the photographs in my hand, I couldn’t resist. I pulled out a couple of them, including one of me and Willie, and showed them to him.

“You mean him?”

He looked at me again, this time more intently, his expression turning incredulous, and said something like

“Oh my God, I can’t believe that you actually know him!”

From then on, Jimmy made eye contact with me every time I went through his checkout line, and every time, he’d ask,

“So, how’s Willie doing?”

A couple of months later, someone named Phil, who had a music school in Winchester where Jimmy took guitar lessons, sent me a friend request on Facebook, asking if I could get a CD with songs he’d written and recorded with his band to Willie (“No, I can’t!”). But we became friends anyway and he invited me to several of his live concerts, where Jimmy was usually in attendance with “Loretta”, whom he introduced as his “friend.” Loretta was older and rather plain, and I was impressed that she’d nabbed herself a nice-looking dude like Jimmy. She eyed me suspiciously.

On Christmas, to my surprise, Jimmy sent me a Christmas card. Since we’d never exchanged contact information, he must have taken it from the Costco database. 

He was very excited when Willie was scheduled to play a concert in Winchester when the local high school auditorium was being dedicated to Patsy Cline. As it were, I was on a State Department trip and couldn’t attend, but I arranged for Paul, Willie’s drummer, and Billy, his percussion player, to visit Phil’s school and hang out with the students, and they were all ecstatic – especially when Paul gifted them with drumsticks.

Eventually Costco built a second warehouse in my area, this one closer to me, and I started to frequent that one, and only occasionally went to Jimmy’s Costco. Then Jimmy retired. He said he was looking forward to doing nothing but going out to eat every day, watching TV, and riding his motorcycle, which was his passion. I very discretely hinted a couple of times that I’d never had a ride on a motorcycle before, but he didn’t pick up on it.

He called every few months or so, or whenever Willie was in the area, and we also connected at a couple of concerts, where he was with Loretta. He eventually told me that they’d been friends for a long time, that she was widowed, that they each lived in their own house, and were “just friends.” I had my doubts about that. 

I eventually gave up on Jimmy ever asking me out, but dutifully answered his calls and reassured him that Willie was fine every time he called in a panic, having read the tabloids. 

‘Don’t worry – Willie’s fine. Don’t read that stuff.’

A few weeks ago, I noticed a missed call from Jimmy on my phone. He didn’t leave a message, and I didn’t call him back, figuring that it was probably about an upcoming show in our area, and that he’d call back eventually.

I did answer his sister’s text immediately, and she got back to me right away with another text and a picture of a life-size Willie cutout. As I had expected, the news was not good.

“He was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer a few weeks ago, and it has spread to his thyroid. He doesn’t want any treatment, just comfort meds. He’s in a nursing home now and asleep most of the time. This Willie cutout greets his visitors; it’s by the door of his room. He told his son a long time ago that he wants to be buried in blue jeans and a Willie Nelson T-shirt.”

“I’ll get the T-shirt,” I volunteered spontaneously, without her asking me for it.

  I called back Lana, whom I’m going to see next week, and told her the story.

“Can you get me a size 2X T-Shirt from the merch stand?”

“I will. And you should get him a bandanna, too,” Lana said. “And, you should go and see him.”

I called his sister, Susan, back and she was grateful for me getting the T-Shirt. We chatted for a long time. He’d told her how we met, at the checkout line at Costco, and that he was so excited that he knew someone who knows Willie. 

I asked her about visiting and she said he’s mostly asleep now and there’s no guarantee that he’d be lucid, but she suggested a FaceTime call if she happens to be there when he’s awake. 

She said that Loretta has been taking care of him and sits with him a lot.

“I wouldn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable,” I said. “I know that he has a girlfriend.”

“No,” Susan said. “ She’s not his girlfriend. They were really just friends. Loretta would have liked it to be more, but it wasn’t.”

“How old is Jimmy?” I asked.

“Seventy-eight.”

“OMG. That’s exactly how old my husband was when he died of the same thing, Agent Orange from VietNam.”

“Jimmy was never in the service,” Susan said. “We don’t know how he got it. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Lana, five thoughts ahead as usual, saw it more practical.

“Maybe he was just too intimidated to ask you out. And it’s a good thing that you never got serious with him. In this way, God saved you from having to go through the same thing twice.”

That’s one way to look at it. 

There’s not much I can do for Jimmy now except keep him in my thoughts and prayers. And get him a Willie T-Shirt and a bandanna to dress up in for his last show.