WHAT WENDELL SAID...

There's this guy...
His name is Wendell.
Probably not  a guy now,
a man,
in every sense of the word, I'm sure.
I've known him for years.

Me and Wendell
and a whole bunch of people I know
came up working in clubs
in New York and Los Angeles.

Wendell is a dashingly good looking fella.
Dashing...
such an underused adjective
that absolutely
in every way
applies to him.

He worked in clubs and bars,
like the rest of us,
but always,
Always...
had a kind of grace and class
that exceeded the cesspool
that our crowd swam in.
And,
His name is Wendell,
that's so cool.

One night,
in the dark office
that served as a quasi-V.I.P. room
for people who knew the knock
in a club that had such an office
as many clubs do,
I was sitting on a
stairway to no where...
just a prop in the room.
It was smoky and alluring
as many mirrored things are,
False friends greeted each other
warmly,
the kind of warm
that indicates fire
and brim stones.

I was drinking and
pretending
that this night
was another important night
amongst "friends",
and Wendell walked into the office.
He probably didn't knock,
He probably has a key to everywhere.

Everyone hellos,
as usual,
and the usual conversations,
about nothing
in which I can't remember a word of,
ensued
and continued
swirling around him,
Wendell, seemingly immune to it all,
as always.

This happened,
That one...
Talk.
Whatever.

At some point,
a name came up.
"_______ did blah, blah, blah".


It reminded me of a story
about ________
and I said to Wendell,
who was in the proximity,
"Hey, you wanna hear
some gossip about  _______?".

It wasn't a bad story.
It was a funny story.
The word "gossip"
was just a funny word to say.
But,
Wendell walked over to me,
put his hands on both my shoulders
gave them a kind squeeze,
looked me straight in the eye
kindly,
and said...
"No...  I don't"
and went about his business.

He smiled, at me warmly,
when he said it.
The real kind of warm.
The understanding, good kind.
And I learned something that night.

Just Say No.

I have,
in the last year
as a vendetta
had so much stuff,
just stuff...
All lies,
told about me
to all kinds of people
who hang out in clubs
and smoke
and mirror
each other.

It doesn't surprise me so much
that many of the bored
parasitic
searching for blood
anywhere
would go along with this,
but some
I thought were my friends.

And as bored as they were,
they never just said,
"No...
I don't want to hear that."
They just listen
nod their heads
and drink free beer
because they know the knock.

But I learned something that night.

Wendell said no.
He was actually saying no
to a harmless anecdote.
But Wendell said
No...
regardless.
He didn't want to hear any of it
about anybody.

And I too, now.

The dashingly handsome
and graceful Wendell
taught me to say no...
or as I was brought up
down south,
"No thank you".

I learned something that night,
and Wendell...
I thank you.