3-11-19 LAYERS

Karl must’ve swallowed a giggle button. He just kept laughing and laughing while I sat on the piano bench in front of him, tickling my guitar and trying to sing sweet and serious songs. Deep, up from the belly, rumbling in the back of the throat laughter, like he saw something hilarious that no one else in the room could see. Poor Ellie, her wheelchair placed right next to his, kept trying to say something to him, as if he could understand her. Her eyebrows pursed as she slowly and repeatedly moved her lips. Finally, I stood with my guitar and walked over to her to see what it is she wanted to say, and what she said was that his laughing was setting off her cystic fibrosis. “And you know that cystic fibrosis is a farting disease and it’s making me fart and I’m so sorry.” Ellie is likely the sweetest soul I’ve ever met. She is one of the few in this facility who can talk, and she speaks slowly and deliberately in whispers.  All through the rest of my gig she kept apologizing for farting. I reminded her that we all fart. 

Meanwhile, directly in front of me, Andrew had about a half a cup of phlegm sliding down his red beard. I actually had to close my eyes so I wouldn’t look at it, and then I had a conversation with myself on one of the under layers of my brain. It has always been curious to me that we have so many layers of thinking. I had this silent conversation with myself while part of me was singing and another part was playing the guitar. I made myself look past that phlegm falling out of the corners of Andrew’s mouth, and commanded myself to look straight into Andrews eyes. They were not 5 feet from me, and they were beautiful and deep golden brown, and they were innocent and pure and they were likely unaware of the phlegm dripping from his chin or the intense inward curve of his wrists or the wide black straps that held his feet onto the wheelchair he sat in. I made myself pretend, on an even deeper layer, that I was Andrew, and that his was the body I got instead of mine, and I made myself feel the love that is inherent in all the spirits that get bodies, even if their brains don’t work the way they might in a healthy vehicle. I was able, the rest of the gig, to look right at Andrew and not be disturbed. I think this is how our angels help us. They see us trying, and they lend a hand.

Finally, Esther, the Recreation Director, came in and wheeled laughing Karl out into the doorway, for which I was grateful because I was losing my voice trying to sing over his laughter. I’m still recovering from a bout with the flu and I had not realized how much it had affected my vocal chords or my lungs. But seated behind Andrew, hidden under Karl’s laughter, was a whistler. His body was not misshapen, and he had a good bit of his wits about him. I’m not sure why he was there, though he, like the others, was in a wheelchair. He had a silver mustache, and a T-shirt with a stretched-out neck, and his mustache fluttered as he whistled, trying unsuccessfully to find the melody I was singing. He amused himself with his whistling, making sure I knew he was doing it while drawing air in rather than out of his lips. 

Against the wall, far from the light of the windows, that young olive skinned man covered in tattoos rubbed his palm over his head, round and round, repeating and repeating, like he was trying to figure out what happened. He has been here, if I recall correctly, just about a year now. When he first came in it felt to me like he was shell shocked, like he had only yesterday been a vibrant if not mischievous bodybuilding Hellion. His young body was musclebound, and in every other way seemingly healthy. I could not stop myself from imagining what tragedy had befallen him; what was that pivotal moment that caused a brain injury and changed his life forever? One of my under layers always has a curious conversation with myself when I see him, because I wonder what path his life may have taken, and what troubles he may have seen, had he not found himself freed from his choices the way he is now. I try, as I sing, to decipher the messages in his tattoos, curious about who he was, or is, under that layer of flesh that disconnected from the motherboard somehow.

I noticed, somewhere in the middle of Can’t Help Falling in Love, that Robert has two new travel pillows carefully situated under each of his arms. His mother, Katherine, sits next to him, her soft woolly jacket overlapped across her heart. Every day Katherine rises at 4 AM and drives 20 miles to spend the morning with her adult son. He cannot talk, or walk, but he is always clean, and tidily cared for. He speaks to her with his eyes. It is obvious to me that in the not too distant future these two will be able to have intelligent meaningful conversations because they know each other by heart. Katherine reminds me that all of us have an innate desire to be needed, and I deeply appreciate and understand the value of a routine that involves the feeling that we are necessary in someone’s life.

By the time my hour is up, laughing Karl is back in the room, contented and quiet. My tattooed brother has laid his hands in his lap, and Ellie has closed her eyes and laid her head back into her head rest, her long dark braid falling over her shoulder. I think she is sleeping, until I finish and she slowly whispers the words, "thank ... you."

When I sing to this little band of warriors, every month of every season, I get more songs in per hour than most other sets I play. I tell no backstories, no musical tales, I offer no introductions. I simply play and sing, speaking, now and then, short phrases for my own sake, not theirs. But mostly it’s about the songs and the nurturing that weaves itself into them. There is absolutely something going on between us, on some level I can’t exactly put my finger on. We wiggle in our space between the layers, trying to find the comfy spot, at least the safe spot. Side by side, layers within layers, packed together, in this speck of time and space.

Out of respect for the privacy of the people and place I am blessed to visit every month, I have changed all names.