Page 13 - kappbook2020

280 I JOE KAPP, "THE TOUGHEST CHICANO"

thousand feet over north San Diego County-consumed by grief, guilt,
and regret-when I sensed something. I wasn't sure, but I thought I
heard ... I felt ... Coach Lewis.
''What's that?" I muttered, not quite aloud.

"Hello, Bub!" came that voice, that familiar greeting. I'd know it
anywhere. Coach Lewis always greeted me in person with "Hello,
Bub."
My mind was playing tricks on me. Had sorrow shaken my sanity?
"But I heard him," I insisted to myself. I didn't imagine it; I'd actually
heard Coach Lewis speak to me.
"Sure you did, Bub." There it was again: clear, audible, undeniable.
"Relax, Joe. Take it easy. It's great up here, don't you think?" he said
soothingly.
"Coach Lewis!" I whispered. Was I really talking to Coach Lewis
on this airplane? "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be at
your funeral. Father Sproul is waiting for you. It's bad enough I'm not
going to be there."

What moments before had seemed surreal and impossible suddenly
felt comfortable. Doubts about my sanity, my belly full of frustrated
anger, the brokenhearted sadness I had endured for the past eight
days-it all evaporated at the sound of his voice. It felt completely
reasonable that Coach Lewis had come to talk to me, to give me con-
fidence and strength, to offer me alternate choices. That's what he
had always done.
"Don't worry, Joe," he said. "I don't think anybody will miss me
for a few moments. I knew you could use a little conversation right
about now."
The drone of the plane's engines and the din of the other passen-
gers' conversations disappeared. It was as though we were the only
two people on the plane, in the world. As I peered out the window
at the soft, patchy clouds of the California sky, I eagerly embraced
the chance to listen again to my old friend's voice. The past year had