Reading Hanna’s “Letters From Fred.” Somehow I’m reminded of that kid Lucian. It was two years ago–to the day almost–that I chatted with him and Kara on the porch of the Open Eye.
The end of March, beginning of Spring, tax time. Kara wondered aloud what tax form she would need, considering she only made $9000 all year. Suddenly this kid, who had been smoking on the porch all day and , in general, acting strange, pipes in: “I made $6000 this year just for being crazy.” There’s a clubhouse for mental ill people just down the block from the café, and Kara is used to the eccentricities of these folks. So she says, “You mean you’re like, mentally ill or something?” “Yeah man,” the kid says, “I’m totally schizophrenic man, but it’s not like a drag or anything. As a matter of fact, I love being crazy, I chose to be this way, man.” “I’m happy like, all the time. My Master, well… I’m not going to talk about that right now…” Best I could gather, the kid–who gave his name as Lucian–made some sort of arrangement with his Master when he was eightteen years old. He could live apart from the drab world of conventional, normal life, and be set free to enjoy the always interesting, perpetually happy life of lunacy, of being crazy. Only catch is (there’s always a catch, right!) it’s required that he live six years without possession of his soul, a condition that he admitted can be difficult at times. Fortunately though, he was at present a mere six months from his twenty-fourth birthday, and thus the reclamation of his long lost friend.
I had seen Lucian around town before, lately milling about the café, but also a year or so ago at the Skylight Exchange, more than once performing on open mic night. He stuck out in my mind because he sometimes wore a skirt and acted like an insane freak in general. Presently, I asked him whether or not he remembered playing at the Skylight and he said yeah, but that he had to stop playing music because it required too much energy and that, without a soul, he had to drink coffee all day just to keep awake. I never did see Lucian again, but I did go home and write a pretty cool song inspired by our conversation. I wonder if he really did get his soul back, and then maybe just went off to college or married some sweet girl. I wonder if the some of the guys at the group home were like Lucian when they were young. I wonder if any of them are still waiting for their souls to be returned to them.
–Later–
Dear Fred,
I’m scared. I want to know you. I want to know what to do, or how to not do. I want to be free and feel alive. I want and I don’t want. I am scared. But I don’t want to keep dying, to keep waiting with eyes slammed shut. I’ve lost my way. I need your help. I’m scared, very scared, but I am ready to listen. Do you have anything to say to me?
Yours,
–Bob