I thought I had enough troubles that morning, while sweeping away the massive amount of water which had flooded my garage through its old, leaking roof. An unexpected thunderstorm had taken its toll earlier on. Then my wife yelled to me from our side door. "Greg! Get over here! Now!" She never calls like that unless it's something very urgent, like maybe our son taking a tumble onto the hardwood floor. He's just about ready to walk, so I've always been prepared for something like that.
But I wasn't prepared for the look she gave me when I ran over. Wide-eyed and desperate looking, she told me Deston had called...and that David, our bass player, had died.
It was remarkable how in an instant my heart just dropped to the pit of my stomach, and how nothing else, not even the arduous task I was taking on, mattered. I imagined my life as a big chalkboard with all this stuff written on it, and someone just coming along with a giant eraser and wiping away a big, gaping hole in one swift motion.
Needless to say, the days after were spent in some weird zone. I'd go about my daily routine and responsibilities, but every couple of hours something, anything would pop up that would conjure David's memory, and I would choke and stare blankly at the floor in thought, and my world would become some kind of melancholy soup for awhile.
I guess a typical thing for people to do is try to remember the last thing they said or did with the one who died. I remembered the last time I saw him was at our rehearsal in early June. He met our son for the first, and last, time. Then I tried to find the last picture I took of him. All I could find was some pictures I'd taken of a recording session we did in August of 2006 for some new songs. The one above was not exactly the last of him from the bunch, but it ironically personified Dave in all his mellow tranquility. For if there was one thing I remember about Dave, it was his ability to float, carefree, above any and all trouble and worries that the band went through. He never lost control...never lost his cool...and never cracked under pressure.
And now, there he is, with a smile and a peace sign, while the rest of us are going through hell on earth without him. That's Dave for you.
As I write this, I'm not sure what this blog will be, but it will definitely be in honor of David Fuentes—a friend, son, father, surfer—and one of the best freakin' reggae bass players that ever lived.
