By Rawlins Gilliland, KERA 90.1 commentator
Dallas, TX – By now, our News Years resolutions have probably lost their meaning, if they're remembered at all. With me, however, one goal remains the same: to take the time to get to know - actually know - those persons I recurrently encounter socially and invariably enjoy. People about whom I inevitably think, "We ought to become more than random circumstantial social acquaintances."
And so it was that I called Berta Obregon, after nine years of crossing paths and delighting in dancing together at various Hispanic venues. "It's time we should become real friends," I said. She agreed. We rendezvoused at the Melrose Library Bar the next night, and over drinks, took turns telling our life histories. After four non-stop hours, we decided to-be-continued at Club Sipango the following Wednesday evening for dinner, and dancing per usual to the Havana Boys band.
That time at the Library Bar was an engaging, multi-layered male-female platonic bonding session. It was as I had imagined; fun, funny, intimate and revealing. Had I merely intended, as in years past, to take this initiative, the time to really get to know this vibrant trailblazer in Hispanic format radio broadcasting, the wasteful loss would have not only been needlessly foolish. It would have also been final. You see, Berta was a no-show that Wednesday night at Sipango. I called her cell phone and learned that she died in an auto accident the night following our marathon at the Melrose.
Hanging up, I thought how many times I had stood in this same spot, while the same band played the same songs, me waiting to dance with Berta. I recalled only one week earlier when I had just received word that I was in perfect health, after a medical scare and subsequent tests. As I entered the club, the Cuban band was playing the song, "Obsession" - her favorite and mine. We immediately began to dance, while I shared my wonderful news. She tossed her head of long hair and swirled around in one of the dramatic turns she so favored, and whispered in my ear, in first Spanish and then English, "We are dancing to share the joy that you have a long life ahead." They buried Berta one week later. I had missed the funeral. No one knew to call. No one knew we had become friends.
Remember our priorities after September 11th? It was a moment in time as easily forgotten as our New Years resolutions. What we sensed then was clear; that special people and special moments - memories - are what matter most. That money, position and status will ultimately seem meaningless in the scheme of things when our lives conclude.
Each New Years Eve, I renew the vow I made years prior: to better know the good people we might never truly know unless we act on our gut instincts, take the steps, make the time to make it happen. Who knows why I postponed for nine years making this remarkable person a personal friend. Imagine my regret if I had not, at least - at last - talked and laughed one-on-one with that charming, lively and lovely woman, for four memorable hours, once upon a time.
Rawlins Gilliland is a writer from Dallas.