But Campbell was a success, or at least he was on that road to a better place away from us ordinary mortals. That is what depressed me even more. When he told me how sad it was every day of his life, the pain of moving about, looking in the mirror, eating, swallowing, even taking a piss, it made me feel all the more sad because I knew that pain as well. I just never thought he carried it around with him like a second instrument case filled with lead. Although it was some relief to know I was not alone, it also made me feel worse that Campbell, my twin brother and an amazing musician was so depressed.
And it was not just sad depressed. Not just a brief case of cold weather blues or sadness over a death or loss of a girlfriend. It was the kind of depression that philosophers write about. The kind of heaviness theologians, singers, and poets try to carry and deal with in a sort of spiritual weightlifting competition. He barely wanted to get out of bed every day, and was relieved to return to it every night. Despite everyone in the park knowing his name, despite the good crowds and being part of a scene, he felt the same way as me, even though I had none of that.
Was I successful at all? Maybe at one time, but only from a strict business perspective. I maintained the right proper balance for my sheets and such and my accountant was probably pleased. But I was never good at math, so positive or negative, the numbers were always the same to me. I only cared about the money in my pocket and how many gigs I had to do a week to keep the business from rolling into a sandpit of debt and sinking. Campbell told me he was jealous that I could be his own boss, but I was ever more jealous of him, he performed in a studio with real artists.
Yes, my name was on a van, announcing my Karaoke service to anyone who was interested. I admit that when I drove to see Campbell, sometimes I took the van instead of the car just so he could see my first name on the side of a vehicle. I'm not sure what I was trying to tell him. I could have been living out of it for all he knew. Weddings, birthdays, graduation parties, I did them all but what I always really wanted to do was be the guy in the industry who could crack into the funeral market. That, for once, at least would have been entertaining. Instead my life went in and out of a van. My equipment went into the back, I went into the driver's seat, and then I was off in my life capsule to find one backyard after another. Sometimes I did bars and clubs, but tried to stay away from those if I could, especially when they had a Ladies' Night going on.
I have lost track of the number of tracks I carry. I have three binders full at least, each one containing laminated paper that lists all the songs that anyone could possibly know. The kids are the easiest to please: they know a dozen songs and whatever plus playing on their parent's radio. The drunks can get belligerent if I don't have something, but so many of the songs they request sound the same enough for me to put on the wrong track without them noticing. No one has yet to request half of my catalogue, especially any of the patriotic songs. Some smart ass might come up to me and ask for opera, and in some cases, I have them covered, since Gilbert and Sullivan count.
My business, is that still waiting for me? Is the van still ready with gas, are appointments lined up by my secretary Laura, are the electrical cords wrapped up and the speakers stored for quick retrieval? I can't remember how I left those affairs. I thought I was going to be done with them forever. My secretary was supposed to clear it up, tie the loose ends together, deal with the irate customers. My hope was that once they heard how I died, and with who, then they would calm down and just get a clown for the kids, or in the case of the clubs, just another DJ. I was certain that they would all be able to quickly replace me.
For the first time in a while, I am in need of stimulation. All there is to hear are the machines and the mutter of the staff. All there is to touch is are the blankets that are alternatively glossy and plastic to the touch. Why did I do it? Why did we do it? Why does it seem so hard to remember why we did it? It is not that the act seems crazy now, what is more bizarre is coming up with an answer for the doctors and the therapists who ask me the same thing. I do not agree with them, but I want to answer them at least. The conversations are getting so repetitive.
It all came together so fast and now seems inevitable, inevitable that he would die and I would live despite our decision to mutually end our lives together. But that decision was as much fate as was our mutual failure, it seems. The event has already gone and become a part of history, for me, my brother, for everyone who found us and saw us wheeled into the hospital. In my memory, there is the ordered progression and procession of those events. They are certain and each one is justified by the previous one. But I go back, further, and further to try and remember the moment when it all made sense for us to leap together. Was there a moment when we had special powers conferred upon us, did our twin ESP suddenly switch on? We came to a moment where there was a decision but never any debate, never any argument. How did Romeo and Juliet really decide on it? They had a friar to help them. But Campbell and I had no such luck with a holy man. They need to keep you alive. Dead men don't put anything in the collection plate.
There is the possibility we were imitating someone famous, or that one of us had seen it happen to a character in a movie. Perhaps his or her serenity impressed one of us. How does one even bring up that kind of subject? How does one even think they can suggest the act? Campbell was performing in the parks and the coffeehouses, and I was working. I hated the work, but at least I was working, and I had my own business. So how did we start talking, then thinking together? That path is not easily approached. It was not like Campbell was trying to sell me a sofa.
His girlfriend was sleeping on it anyway because of his snoring. It is what he told me when I went over last time to his place and I saw the bed under it folded out. It looked like it fell off the wall of a padded cell. The bed was unmade and there was a trashcan parked right by it. Whenever I had something to throw away during the visit, Campbell was friendly and always took it from me and put it in that bin. We started talking, moved to drinking, and then ended up strung out over the furniture, tired and feeling a weight pushing down us. Campbell might have started talking about it right then. He was definitely depressed and all I could do was commiserate with him. He offered me more to drink, but I declined and rather than feel left out with downing whiskey, he decided to stay next to me.
Our positions were certainly odd. Over the course of an hour we came to rest right by one another, our hands and heads avoiding touch, but his long hair brushed against mine as we both stared up at the ceiling, wondering if the heaviness would sink down and finally crush us for good. Soon, we started to wonder aloud and we both realized what a mess we were in. We were both surprised how the other was feeling. I told him why he should be happy. Then he told me why I had no right to be sad. Finally we just lay there, trying not to sigh loudly. The room grew quiet except for our breathing and the breathing of the room coming through the air conditioner. I think he wanted to tell me his idea for doing it right then, but Alyssa came in.
Like mechanical corpses in a cheap haunted house ride, we both sprang up to attention, our backs straight and our heads frozen in place, looking out in one direction. Campbell got up and I stayed staring at the air conditioner, though my back slacked and shoulders shrugged. Alyssa was wearing bright colors and they only seemed to announce that nothing she had on her fit. She declined to kiss Campbell and the two started arguing. Money, drugs, alcohol, sex, and rock'n'roll, the subject changed so many times I could not tell what it was or who was at fault. Gradually I went lower and lower and simply fell back into my old position.
Then Alyssa shut herself in the master bedroom and Campbell took the whiskey bottle from the kitchen. He took a swig and Alyssa yelled through the door that the bottle was hers. There was lull in the apartment for a brief moment, and then she furiously opened the door and ran over to the couch. She grabbed the trash can and ran back into her hiding place. She tried to catch the door on the way back and shut it the whole way, but she failed and Campbell and I heard her vomiting and coughing in alternating measures.
Maybe Campbell felt he had to cover up the fluid sounds. I remember him coming over to where I was, and then laying down on the floor. Yes, he said his life was difficult and that he wished he could just disappear without worrying about what he left behind. I told him that he would leave me behind. That must have been it, the moment, or it soon came afterwards. What other time could there have been, what other cause? If a camera was filming us it would be the perfect time, our faces close together yet at different levels, looking familiar yet with different styles of hair, talking about a morbid subject and coming to an epiphany together. A song could then start playing, or it might already be playing but then it would rise to a real fevered pitch. But nothing typical or clichéd like trombones or trumpets coming from angels heard on high.
Alyssa. She has probably found out what we tried to do by now. The doctors and the police must have told her if the neighbors did not get to her first. I wonder if she broke down then, if she started wailing uncontrollably. She has not come to visit me here in this hospital, but maybe it is better for her. I might remind her too much of Campbell, if she misses him. There is a chance that she might resent him and be angry at him still, not for leaving her, but for doing so after bringing her out West from back home. I'm sure he made all types of promises until the weight of them broke her reserve down and she decided to join us by the great sunny and pacific sea. If she picked up all her bad habits here, then it is another thing to hate him for.
