Sam didn't come to me in
my dreams like he did for all his other friends.
Me! KD!
Friend, BandMate, In and Out of Love, Smashing your guitar on my steps to get my attention, KD! We opened for Sister Hazel, Eric Johnson, Southern Culture on the Skids, and G-Love, KD, Remember, Sam?I am staring into space when I hear Sam clearly.
"Knock! Knock! Coconut Head! Come to the phone!"
"Don't boss me around", I say, but not with my old gusto, for I'm awfully glad to hear from him.
"You have the hardest #*&* head!" says Sam. "Nothing gets through!"
Sam explains that we can speak at anytime, just like we're doing.
"How do I know it's not just me talking to myself," I ask.
"What else is new," says Sam. "Coconut Head! Didn't you get my frog?"
"I thought that it might be just a coincidence," I sniff. "Although it did get my attention."
Miles of empty Carolina Beach, and while I cry and rage, I paw the sand into deep ruts around me. Then I feel something small and squishy in my hand.
It's a little frog.
A squishy, bright green, plastic frog with pop eyes. Very Sam.
Sam loved frogs. He called his beloved nieces 'the frogs' and thus had froggie this and thats everywhere in his house. The talk turned serious when I asked him why."I was a lot more sick than you knew," he said.
"But suicide?" I say. "Suicide?"
Sam says it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Now 2 plus years later, I have no more tears.I've made peace with Sam and his decision.
"Peace, My Ass!" snorts Sam. "Now will you please get off your Ass and Jam!"
Sam Moss giving me, KD, "the Look," at band practice, 2006.