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Bennie and my dad met at Dyess, in the Air Force. I'd heard stories about him for much of my life, and we finally met around my mom's funeral. We got along well, similar senses of humor, and exchanged phone numbers before he went back to North Carolina.

We talked a couple of times a year. Funny guy, a conservative-leaning boomer but not, you know, one of them.

About two weeks ago, I got a call from him. One of his daughters actually made the call for him. He wanted Dad's phone number, said that his new phone had lost it. We chatted for a few minutes. He sounded very weak, like a ghost, I thought later.

Dad called a few nights ago. Bennie had passed on. He and Dad had gotten to talk for a good long while. Bennie knew his time was coming, I guess, and wanted to say his goodbyes.

My own new phone didn't copy the call history from its predecessor, so I can't easily look and see when I had the last conversation with Mom. But Bennie's call is there. The last time I talked with my dad's best friend. This world we live in - there's a dead man in my phone.

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