'I am Alive!'

After a morning of getting the lay of the land including but not limited to finding the cleaners, the butcher, the fresh produce from the farmers market, the fish market, the laundry mat, and the closest best pull of espresso I can find, I go watch my first musical. I admit, it’s the blockbuster hit of a barber on the big screen but it must do for now, I find myself a copy of Time Out New York and have a cup of coffee at the closest café/bar on 42nd and 8th. As I flip through the pages discovering all that is available in a short week I come across a listing at the New York Public Library of a free exhibit called ‘Beatific Soul: Jack Kerouac' stating it holds ‘Kerouac’s harmonicas, crutches, Buddhist bells and other personal effects joined with unpublished manuscripts..’ I am amazed to realize it is on 42nd and 5th, just a push and a shove through Times Square and an hour and a half from closing.

I pay for my coffee and think about the possibility of the manuscripts, several of which I have order after devouring all published works of Jack and think to myself ‘ At least I can see come personal effects, I mean, it s a library, of course it has manuscripts’.

I make my way up the stairs from the side steps and follow the maze to lead me to the front entrance to ask someone where the exhibit is located. The person doesn’t understand as I point to the leaflet I have picked up along the way and turn around to ask someone else and out of the corner of my eyes, a sign blinking ‘Kerouac’.

As I walk in I am herded to the left not sure if I am at the start or the end and begin to see all the familiar pictures I have framed with hand notes of the ‘when and where’ of New York they were taken and a feeling of comfort comes over me. There are notepads and manuscripts as promised as I make my way through the exhibit to come across the framed crutches. It dawns on me these may have been the ones used after getting hurt at Columbia finishing his dreams of being a football player which lead to his finding of nightclubs in Harlem. I read the tag and sure enough, the exact same. Another wave comes over me, this time of excitement. I make my way glancing around for the next thing to hit me and come across a manuscript of a piece with the first writings of ‘Go, Go, Go’ and I think of my previous discover of Birdland I had just walked by unexpectedly and think to myself ‘this is it’. This is when he first wrote those words. This is his writings that moved me into music and into prose’. I think,’ if only the original writings of ‘On the Road’ on a single roll where I have often imagined /seen plays/documentaries of Jack sitting and writing furiously at a typewriter that has changed my life in so many ways’. I turn around and see a glass case. The case extends the long length of the library. The first 60 feet of the original 120. I slowly make my way to the first words written ‘The first time I met Neil…”

I am stunned. I look around to see no one looking at me. Tears begin to well. I think to myself ‘I feel alive…I haven’t felt alive in so long…’ . The words he wrote by his hands so long ago that touch me in my readings of it what seemed to be just as long….

I continue to try and read the words in front of me for what felt like miles. I began to wonder when the last time I felt alive or anything of this magnitude. I think of the birth of my niece/godchild. I think of my friends and family I have just left in full support of my decision to move here, and then I think of Bella.

I think of our last time on this earth together. I think of her slipping away from me from the cancer that had taken her at such a young age. And then it hits me like a movie filmstrip in elementary school rewinding……and I have to step aside. Flashes of Kerouac’s grief of his brother taken at a young age. I think of the collar I still have of Bella’s as I seek refuge in a corner. I look up and in the case in front of me is a pair of shoes. It the most joyous tears of emotions come over me. I look around again to see no one looking at a grown man showing emotion. I do not feel shame. I feel alive for the first time in years. The moments of joy, sorrow, pain, anguish and I whisper hallelujah.

I whirl through the rest of the exhibit. I see hand written journals from Mexico City and think of Rob (Neil). I think how the words ‘The only ones for me are the mad ones’ once struck me so hard I surround myself with only the ones to strike passion in my life. I think of driving from cross country trips from Seattle to New York and back. I think of crossing the border of Lardo into Mexico with ‘The Boys’(Allen/Josh, Gregory/Paul, William/Loren) . I think of the most glorious, wonderful people I have found in my life because of the pen of this man. I see handwritten first page of ‘The Town and the City’ and see the dark red almost black words of ‘Blood’ written in the blood of Jack. In the same spiritual drive that drove Jack I think of Communion.

I think I’ll take Communion at St. Thomas tomorrow morning. It is on 53rd and 5th. I may stop by 42nd and 5th on the way home.

When you ask me how I am, I will say ‘I am alive’. This does not mean what it has once meant to mean of ‘I am not dead’.

(Apologies for no edits…..this was written in one single sitting with no revisions)