To Cheri Jewell

"Sure, get in!" she said. Her voice was cheerful and inviting. After the day I'd had, it was a relief.
My mother and I had been fighting, again. I had left the house in frustration and gone to see my friend Randy--but Randy was getting ready to leave. It was Halloween, and Rock 101 was having a Halloween parade downtown, and Randy was about to leave with his friend Mikey (whom I had only met once).
Randy saw my face fall at all this, and suggested that I might be able to go with them. "Mikey's mom will probably take you with us," he explained.
A few minutes later, this old--dare I say decrepit--car pulls into the driveway. It's that kind of old sedan you see in reruns of The Dukes of Hazzard, or Knight Rider--some kind of plain nondescript abortion that you can hardly believe still runs: yet, there it is.
I rode in the front with Cheri. She asked me to tell a little about myself, and I went through the normal things, but Randy apparently wasn’t satisfied with that: “Tell her about your book!”
“Yeah, um, I’m writing a book.”
“What’s it about?” she asked immediately, with genuine interest. This was new to me. To the fifteen-year-old boy sitting in that car, to have an adult speak to me in such a manner was a bit strange. Usually when adults asked questions of me, it was with polite disinterest (as in most of my friends’ parents), or with suspicion: “Where have you been? What have you been doing?” Cheri seemed downright excited to hear the answer.
“It’s a horror novel,” I explained, and then began to detail the characters, plot, and basic structure of the story. I won’t embarrass myself by relating those details here. Suffice it to say that the novel was very dark and full of many tortured emotions and more torturous scenes. On some level I knew that if I ever divulged the nature of my book to my mother, she would not approve. Cheri encouraged me to keep writing, to finish it.
Conversation moved to other topics, mainly music since the local rock radio station was having their parade tonight. I had my cassette collection with me. I carried with me everywhere because if I did not my mother would find it when I wasn’t there and destroy anything she thought “unsuitable.” Mostly this consisted of anything that seemed related to sex, or that might have explicit lyrics. I still don’t approve of how she handled these years of my life, but I understand her better now. At the time though, in my mind she was just a tyrant. Imagine my surprise when Cheri asked me if I wanted to play anything!
I chose Slaughter—which was the hair-band du jour of the time when hair bands were on their way out. Nirvana’s Nevermind was still a year away. Their rise would kill hair-bands, guitar solos, and talent in popular music. Cheri not only played the tape, but she reveled in it. Slaughter, you see, is just fun music. It’s all fluff, but it’s fun fluff! Then she did the unthinkable—“Have you heard of Queensryche?” she asked.
“No.”
“Ohhh, they’re a great metal band. I think you’d really like them. Their lead singer’s name is Geoff Tate—I call him the man with no feet, because I haven’t seen his feet yet.”
“They’ve never shown his feet on videos and stuff?” I asked, not getting the joke.
“I’m sure they have, but I haven’t been able to get down that far!”
Now I was enthralled. Here was a grown woman with children my age, who not only liked some of the same music I did, but was actually suggesting new music that I might like, and who was making jokes containing a bit of sexual innuendo. She was treating me like one of her friends—not like the friend of one of her children.
I did end up hearing some Queensryche on the radio that night—Empire was just out, and it was still getting some play. They became one of my favorite bands. This is significant to me beyond the reasons that I have already given: it was the first time someone else had introduced me to music that I had never heard, and grew to love. That is a rare value in my life. Further, “Anybody Listening” became an anthem to me soon after, and remains one to this day:

You and I long to live like wind upon the waterIf we close our eyes we'll maybe realizeThere's more to life than what we have knownAnd I can't believe I've spent so longLiving lies I knew were wrong insideI've just begun to see the light<snip />Is there anybody listening?Is there anyone that sees what's going on?Read between the lines, criticize the words they're sellingThink for yourself and feel the wallsBecome sand beneath your feet<snip />
Is there anybody listening? Is there anyone who smiles without a mask?What's behind the words-imagesThey know will please us?I'll take what's realBring up the lights

Cheri really did treat me like a friend—even to the point of asking me to come over for a visit the following weekend; even after I started dating her daughter. Even after I made it clear that I had some pretty backwards ideas that I hadn’t challenged yet, that must have been quite offensive to her.
Cheri might best be described politically as a liberal. That may mischaracterize her somewhat—it’s not something we’ve ever explicitly discussed—but generally her attitudes and beliefs lean to the Left as far as I can tell. Having been brought up around fundamentalist Christian people, it did not seem unnatural to me to criticize homosexuals, or even—irony of ironies—to criticize what I considered to be Satanic music.
Cheri, and her daughter Sara as well, would not tell me I was wrong. They stated their disagreement, and their reasons for it. They would ask me leading questions—the kind of questions designed to get you thinking about something on more than a superficial level. Over time, I came to make it a point to systematically analyze every idea and belief that I held, questioning why I believed it, and evaluating its truth. Cheri was the pebble that started the avalanche of my intellectual growth. It wasn’t long before I was calling her “Mamma.”
By the time I was 17, I was an atheist. Soon after, I discovered Ayn Rand. Objectivism is a far cry from the Religious Right or the Liberal Left. This was dramatic intellectual transformation for me to have gone through in just 2 years. And still, even though her daughter and I had long since stopped dating, Cheri and I were still friends.
At this point our relationship was primarily about music—I think to her it probably always was. I’m sure that her leading questions to me on my backwards ideas were in no way of primary concern to her in any sense. I don’t think of Cheri as being very political. Cheri simply loves music, and pretty much loves everybody else. The only thing that she asks of a person is that they treat her fairly—and that’s a thing very easy to do because she’s just so damned pleasant to be around! Cheri was the first joyous adult that I ever met.
She will often quip that she never grew up. I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s that she never gave up. She never lost the conviction that happiness is possible, and that it’s hers for the taking. In this sense, she is one of the most important role models I’ve ever had.
Yesterday I got a call from her husband. She’s in the hospital, and would like to talk to me. It’s been awhile since I’ve talked with her. I’ve known that she’s been ill with cancer, but last time I talked with her, she was recovering and things were looking good. Now, 15 years after I met this woman, life is very different for me. I work full time and go to school part time. I love my job, still listen to music all the time, and revel in taking care of my two dogs. I am a happy man. I just bought a house this year as well. If I had to sum my life up in one word, it would be “busy!”
I called her immediately. “I just wanted to tell you,” she said “that I’m only going to be around another 3 or 4 weeks. The cancer is spreading, and I’m not getting any more treatment. There’s not really anything they can do anyway. I just wanted you to know that I love you, and that if there’s anything I ever did to offend you, I’m sorry.”
I assured her that she had never done anything to offend me—which is true. And then I set out to tell her what she had meant to me. I don’t believe in any kind of after life, so it was very important for me to tell her now, while she’s still here. It’s difficult to summarize though. It’s not like she set out to be any kind of mentor for me. She just did the unimagineable: she accepted the person I was, and allowed me the room to grow and change. She respected me enough to know that I would grow and change. She set a wonderful example of how life can be enjoyed.
Cheri, if you get a chance to read this, I want you to know I love you too. "You had the smile that could light up the world." Thank you so much for being the person that you are. You made it so much easier for me to find my happiness in life. I will never forget you, nor the impact you have had. I hope that you’ve had half the fun in your life that I’ve found in mine—that you showed me was possible to have. You are more than a friend to me: you are a heroine.

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Update
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Goodbye Cheri.