A tall man, with long, unruly dark hair, wearing a blue shirt and black windbreaker, emerged from the elevator, carrying a black guitar case. “Excuse me, nurse, where is Room 211?” he asked at the desk.
“Down the hall to the left,” replied the young nurse.
“Thank you, ma’am,” the gentleman answered.
The man found the room and knocked on the open door. “Hello,” he announced, “I’m Johnny Cash.”
There was another gentleman standing with a guitar inside the room. The expression on his face was one of surprise when he saw the visitor, a look of “shouldn’t you be on an album cover?”
“Oh, my Lord!” gasped Hank. “You’re Johnny Cash!”
He offered a hand to the visitor, who responded in kind with a smile.
“I know,” the visitor replied, grinning. “Is this Clem Brooks’ room?”
“Yes sir, Mister Cash. That’s my father. His name is Clem,” the middle-aged man stammered. “I’m sorry…I’m just a little flustered.”
“No problem. And call me Johnny,” the singer replied.
The young woman sitting by the bedside stood and approached the music star. “I’m Andrea, his daughter,” she said, shaking hands.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss,” Cash answered.
She glanced at her brother Hank, who looked stunned.
“We were supposed to attend your concert last night,” Andrea informed Cash.
“I know all about it,” Johnny replied.
“Dad, somebody’s here to see you,” whispered Hank, bending down and talking softly to his father.
“He comes and goes, Mister Cash. He’s been sleeping a lot lately,” said the daughter.
Cash looked forlorn as he sized up the situation. His heart was breaking for the feeble, thin man in the bed before him.
“Good morning, Clem. Good to see you. It’s Johnny Cash. How you doing, buddy?” the singer asked nonchalantly, leaning over the bedrail, looking Clem straight in the eye while shaking his hand. “Sorry you weren’t able to attend the show last night. We missed you.”
Clem struggled to sit up straighter, his oxygen cannula almost falling out of his nose, thanking Cash in whispers while still grasping the singer’s hand. Johnny, overcome with emotion, held Clem’s face in his hands and kissed his right cheek.
Was this real or am I in Heaven already? thought Clem. His consciousness had fluctuated over the last few days. But now the cobwebs were clear and he knew darn well who was paying him a visit.
“I hear you’re a country music fan?” Johnny said.
“He’s a Johnny Cash fan, most of all,” the son interjected.
“Well, good thing I brought my guitar along,” Johnny said, opening his guitar case.
My Lord, Johnny Cash is going to sing…right here, at dad’s bedside, thought the son.
“Feel free to follow along,” Cash suggested to the son.
Johnny started playing the iconic opening notes to Folsom Prison Blues.
“I hear the train a ‘Comin’…”
His tired voice strained a bit. It was early morning after a concert but he proceeded to belt out the song without a hitch.
Cash then began singing a soft Gospel hymn named “Why Me, Lord,” written by fellow-Highwayman Kris Kristofferson.
Clem closed his eyes all through the song, a sad look on his face. Andrea asked her father if he was sleeping.
“No,” Clem mumbled in response, “Just reminiscing.”
He was thinking about the good times, as if he could see his entire life flashing before his eyes.
********
For the last three days Clem felt like a prisoner in the hot and sweaty hospital bed. No matter how comfortable his family and the nurses tried to make him feel, he was still restless and fidgety. This confinement was driving him crazy. He longed to get away from all the tubes, the IV, and the monitors they had him hooked up to. He just wanted to be free.
The waiting on the hospice unit, through long hours of sleeplessness, waiting for the lung cancer that was torturing his frail body to shut down the rest of his organs and call it a day … this waiting was hard on everyone. His family remained there by his bedside; yesterday they brought his beloved hound dog, Buck, to visit.
Damn cigarettes. He was sixty-four years old. He should’ve had a few more good years left. It had been a good life but a few regrets remained.
His son Hank was there all along, playing country songs on an old, beat-up six-string guitar. Hank would start humming or softly singing a country classic; sometimes Clem would join in, singing in whispery puffs of air, sometimes he wouldn’t. Sometimes he would just lay there, eyes wide open, thinking.
“Play some ‘Johnny’,” the sick man would request.
His head ached to the point where he could barely lift it off the fever-soaked pillow. He would be going home soon, home to see his wife and the folks who had passed before him. They would be around soon to welcome him into the next world, or so they say. No more pain, no more suffering.
The past six months had gone so fast. Six months since he had gone to Doctor Ross, complaining of a persistent cough. Six months since he had been told he had terminal lung cancer. Six months of receiving treatment, both chemotherapy and radiation. Six months of getting his affairs in order, just in case the doctors were right.
There was one last thing nagging at his heart, one last regret, one last “to-do” on his bucket list. He had come so close to fulfilling his last wish. His was one of the first tickets bought for the concert in Helena the night before. He always wanted to see Johnny Cash in person. Ironically, six months ago, when he bought the ticket for the show, it was the same day he got the bad news about the cancer.
Missing Johnny Cash, as trivial as it might seem in that dark moment, was disappointing. He had always admired Johnny Cash. Nothing against the other Highwaymen -- Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson and Willie Nelson -- but Clem was going to the Helena concert to see Johnny Cash. Something about that man -- his iconic voice, the way he carried himself, the way he overcame tough times in his past -- Clem could relate to.
Now here he was…the Man in Black himself… standing at his deathbed and singing like he was at the Grand Ol’ Opry.
********
Hank stood there, silently taking it all in, his eyes darting from his dying father to the singing legend. What a good man Johnny Cash was, he thought. He didn’t have to do this. Andrea probably contacted the venue in Helena or the country music radio station and set this whole meeting up. Not that it mattered.
What a good man my father is, too, Hank thought, thinking of loving memories spanning all the way back to his own childhood. He could still remember the day his father first took him fishing. Hank was the definition of a hard-working man -- he kept the ranch going all those years. Now it would be up to Hank to keep the ranch and the family going.
It gave him chills just being witness to this extraordinary scene unfolding in front of him: Johnny Cash giving a special performance for his father. If this was the final memory of a lifetime of memories, so be it.
Johnny finished the last song of his mini-acoustic set, the iconic “I Walk the Line” and addressed Clem one more time:
“I just want you to know that I’m really glad I was able to be here before I catch my plane. I’ll be praying for you,” Johnny said, touching Clem’s bruised hand, the one with the IV. “Thank you for all the love and support.”
That’s when Clem pointed to the window.
“She’s… asking for… you,” the old man whispered.
“Who’s asking for me, sir?” Cash asked gently.
“The woman… over there,” insisted Clem.
Johnny didn’t bother to turn around. He knew Clem was most likely hallucinating or in the dying process. He heard about people in their last moments seeing loved ones, loved ones who welcome them into the afterlife. Just go with it, he told himself.
“Does she have anything to tell me?” Johnny asked in a hushed voice.
“She…wants you… to know… that she loves you,” Clem replied. “She says ‘not to worry anymore’. She’s wearing…your green… apron.”
Cash grasped Clem’s hand one more time. “Thank you, Clem. God bless you,” he said.
Cash turned to leave, a pale expression on his weathered face. He glanced toward the window, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.
“Thank you so much,” Andrea said softly. “God bless you for visiting my father.”
“It was my pleasure. Take care,” said Johnny, slipping out the door.
“I’ll be right back,” Hank said, “I’m going to walk Johnny to the elevator.”
********
“Hey, you play pretty good,” Johnny told Hank as they walked along the gray tiled floor and past the nurse’s desk.
“Thanks, “Hank replied. “Next time you’re in Montana and need a guitar player…”
“I’ll keep you in mind,” Johnny said, grinning.
“Your visit meant the world to my father,” Hank said. “Thank you again. You gave him closure.”
“I hope he finds peace in his soul,” Johnny replied.
“Who do I thank at the radio station for setting this up?” Hank asked.
They had arrived at the elevator. Johnny stared at the floor for a moment before replying.
“No, it wasn’t the radio station,” he began. “Nobody contacted me. I had a dream last night.”
“A dream? A dream about my father?” Hank asked, surprised.
“Yes. I got back to the hotel last night after the show. Packed my stuff, ready for an early morning departure to the next gig. I fell asleep and had this intense dream. I saw your father, knew the circumstances, how he was a fan but couldn’t make the concert, knew his name and all about the cancer. Even knew the name of the hospital and his room number, like some kind of telegram in my mind. It was all there…everything.
“My own mother died from lung cancer a few months ago,” he continued. “We were very close. I’m still getting over her passing. I’m thinking she had something to do with this.”
Cash smiled and hit the elevator button before continuing.
“We used to tease my mother all the time about wearing her favorite apron. It was a green Christmas apron, trimmed in white and red lace. I made that apron for her in school one year for a Christmas present. She wore that apron all year long; I could still see her in the kitchen, baking pies, making supper. Even in the summertime, she wore that apron. I swear, if she could’ve worn it to church she would’ve.
“She wore it because of me.”
The elevator reached the fourth floor and Cash got in.
“You see, when your father mentioned seeing a woman in his room, a woman wearing a green apron, I knew that was my mother,” he explained. “And when she said what she did…that she loved me…it was then I knew…
“Your father,” Johnny said, “gave me closure too.”
With a wave he was gone. The elevator door closed, leaving Hank behind.
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