The first night of August is here, and I am standing in front of Troupe429, my favorite bar in Norwalk.
I am wearing a peacock-blue-green three-piece suit, complete with peacock-feathers on the tie, slippers embroidered, and earrings rhinestones. It’s now time to sing.
It’s the fourth time I perform in this show at this bar. The crowd is familiar with me. This time I am unsure of how the show will turn out. No more distorted pop culture kitsch, Gaga or Britney. There’s no longer a “Thong song”; it’s me and a mic, with my fingers snapping.
This risk is something I’m not sure about. It’s not clear to me if I will be able to finish this song. It’s now time to give it a try.
Open my mouth and let out all my hurt. This time, I am not singing for me. This time I am singing in memory of my late father.
Everyone is trying to reach the bar. Heaven is the name of this bar.
For me, while March might come in as a lion, and leave like a sheep, I see August charging in with a bull.
On August 5, 2005, my father passed away after battling bone marrow carcinoma. He had a swollen body and his bones were broken, but after a successful treatment he was declared to be in remission. He had a heartattack and fell down in the bathroom that morning.
Since then I have experienced my sorrow, my pain and my loss. Since then, I have gone from grieving him to just missing him.
It’s OK. I’m OK. The majority of the time. It’s fine to cry or smile when I think of him. I’m fine. If I watch the ending of Coco, I will weep. Thanks, Pixar?)
The summer ends in July and begins August. I am thrown and T-H.R.O.W.
Anxiety begins to set in. While waiting for our food, I felt my stomach trembling. As I climbed into bed, I waited for the phone to vibrate and then the screen to show that it was my brother calling in from the hospital, just like the early morning. His voice was shattered into pieces.
Since my father’s death, I have written about the intersection of his life and popular culture. He was one of the children who saw George Reeves as Superman and then broke his wrist jumping from a roof while wearing a towel on his neck. He loved The Day The Earth Stood STILL and hated Inspector Gadget. He laughed so hard when Jack Nicholson played the Joker in Batman cartoons.
Sometimes a pop-culture piece will resurface and bring back a new memory of his. One time, my brother sent me the song “Last Glimpse of Gotham”, by Joshua Redman. He said it reminded him of his father. Every time I hear the saxophone over these strings or that bell, it makes me cry. Redman is one of Pop’s favourite jazzmen.
I first heard the Talking Heads song, “Heaven”, a few months ago. David Byrne sings in a plaintive, echoing voice over the guitar, keyboard, organ, and bass. The song describes the afterlife like a bar, where the fun ends only to be repeated again and again into eternity.
The band in Heaven, they played my favorite song. “Play it again, all night.” My brother placed an album by John Coltrane in Pop’s coffin. Trane is playing in his favorite bar.
When you stop and think about the lyrics for a while, they become more disturbing. The lyrics go from being somewhat optimistic to absurd, then disquieting. They waltz with uncertainty about what will happen after death.
Heaven is the place where there are no events.
The “Heaven’ goes first to Nietzsche, then Samuel Beckett. Does the novelty of eternity wear off if it is the same thing every time? Will boredom set in? Boredom is there in heaven?
Does it feel as if nothing happens if the same thing is repeated over and over again?
When this party is over, we’ll start all over again. It will not change, it will remain the same. “It’s difficult to believe that anything would be as exciting or fun.”
Is heaven a place “where nothing ever happens”, or is there no heaven?
There is no afterlife
No gods?
What?
Some people say that nothing lasts forever. If forever is then nothing, what would that mean?
It’s hard to say how many of these thoughts were behind what I said that night. It’s only that I know I gave everything in me to the audience and felt their love and support. After the show, some people approached me to tell stories about their fathers who had passed away. We hugged and wept together.
My father died and I have accepted it. Sometimes he shows up in strange places, such as a Talking Heads’ song from 1979.
The world continues to move forward, and my father is always with me, whether in my mind, my heart or the reflection in the mirror.