He's standing on the porch of his Kannapolis home, his back to the brilliant palette of autumn splashed across the surrounding woods. His right arm is stretched out, resting on the bannister, Navy tattoos dark and definitive in the afternoon sunlight. The left is folded across his now prominent stomach, Budweiser in hand, kinda resting on the bulge of the belly. Funny how the only place he got fat was in the belly. The hair is short and graying these daze, the long, ample mustache completely white.

The Wiz.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my old friend the Wiz lives only 90 miles to the north of my Six. It was a moment of incredible serendipity. So I knew I had to visit the Wiz while I was in the Carolinas.

The Wiz is a handful but I've missed him terribly. He left us about eight years ago when his father suffered a heart attack and his mother got sick, too. He went home to North Carolina to live with them and see them through their illnesses. It broke my heart to let him go, but I understood and always hoped that one day he'd come home to us. Alas, it is not to be. He *is* home already, right there in the beautiful woods of North Carolina. I must be content with that.

Looking now at his picture, the face so aged but the sparkle still in the eye, I once again see him as I did the very first time.

It was a Sunday and I was young and hot, free and independent and enjoying every moment of it. Sundays meant Maribelle's. Maribelle's by the Bay, where anybody who was anybody showed up on Sundays to fog down the alcohol and mingle with the masses. During the week there'd hardly be a soul at Maribelle's, but on Sunday you couldn't stir 'em with a stick. Hanging out every door, pouring down the stairs, swelling the decks. Rows of Harleys and Indians and choppers parked right in front. Heaven.

I'm just about to blast off for Maribelle's when the phone rings. It's Tony, a guy who works with my roommate Alice. He has decided he wants to meet me because Alice has been talking about me at work (aha! Big Mouth). So I tell him I'm on my way to Maribelle's and why don't we meet there?

"How will I know you?", he asks.

"That'll be the fun of it," I say. "We won't know each other. We'll just have to *find* one another."

Maribelle's is packed, as always. I eventually work my way through the crowd to the bar and order Johnny Walker Black, straight up. It comes and I ease over to the jukebox, plug a few tunes. Then I start looking around. Hmmm. Now which one of these guys is Tony?

Slowly I squeeze through the teeming bodies, past the bathtub full of swimmers, through the fishnets, past the uglist tiger-striped couch in the world, past the tables fashioned from driftwood, past the porch swing, around to the pot-bellied stove area. And there, for the first time, something ... er someone ... caught my eye.

Leaning up against the bar with a shit-eatin' grin on his face is some guy who reminds me of Jesus. Either Jesus or that Doobie brother, the one with the real long hair, I don't remember his name at the moment.

Hmmm. Well, why not? This guy could be Tony just as easily as any other dude in the room, right?

I give him a smile.

He smiles back.

After what seems like an eternity, I discover my voice.

"Are you Tony, by any chance?"

"Darlin'," he says, putting down his drink and opening his arms wide, "I can be anybody you want me to be."

Well, what could a girl do? I mean, I had to fall in love with him at that very moment, didn't I? And he seemed to like me, too.

We wound up hanging together all afternoon, yakking, laughing, sharing stories. Wiz always has the best stories, and he is always the fall guy, the clown. Darkness descended and we adjourned to a local seafood haven to fill our bellies. Still, that wasn't enough. We hadn't talked about everything in the world yet. Besides, I was addicted to his laugh. He had the greatest laugh, and he laughed all the time. His whole perspective on life was so zany it was completely infectious.

So now it's Sunday night after dinner and we're headed to The Red Barn, where Bert and the boys will be laying down some hot blues. We dance, we talk, we thoroughly enjoy one another. Wiz is beginning to like me a whole lot by this time and he's starting to get amorous. I am not averse to his attentions because I think he's just the coolest, but something nags at me in the back of my head.

Suddenly it comes to me. "Are you married?", I ask, looking him dead in the eye.

"Married? Uh, no, no, of course not."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, cross my heart." He makes the little sign with his index finger.

"Okay."

Still, it nagged. I asked again later. And again. Each time I got the same answer. Not no, but hell no. Okay.

And then it is the witching hour, 0200, when the bars close and the drunks stagger out to their cars and the waitresses all need a ride home. Wiz and I stand at the door of decision. I like him but I ain't easy, so I tell him look, it's been great fun but I have to go home now. Alone. And that's cool with him. We'll be seeing each other again, he says.

About a week later I am asleep. It's the middle of the night. The phone rings, startling me out of my slumber. I answer and it's the Wiz, saying he needs to see me.

"Okay, how about after work tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, my ass," he says. "I need to see you now, right now, this very minute. It cannot wait until tomorrow."

"But it's the middle of the fucking night, Wiz."

"I don't care. I have to see you. Right NOW."

"Okay, come on. But don't ring the doorbell. My window will be open, just step inside."

I get up and dress, light a candle, ensure that the phone call didn't disturb Alice. In about ten minutes a car pulls into the driveway. A minute after that, the Wiz pops through my bedroom window.

"Thanks for letting me come over," he says.

"Sure. So what's the deal? What's so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

He kinda hangs his head and looks up at me.

"I have something on my conscience," he says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. See, I lied to you. I *am* married. I don't know why I lied, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell you the truth when you asked about it. And all week that lie has been eating me alive. I couldn't stand it another minute. I just couldn't stand thinking about you, what a good and trusting person you are and how I lied to you like that. So I have come to tell you the truth and beg your forgiveness, and I swear I will never lie to you again."

And you know something, by golly? He hasn't.