IT WAS AGNES

I read somewhere that Ricky Nelson told people for years that he knew he was going to die young, and then of course he did at age 45 (if that’s young). Johnny Horton also predicted his death and spoke about it frequently. He died in a car crash when he was 35. While I’ve never imagined myself getting old (I figure 50 tops) I have always thought there’s no way I’ll die of natural causes. It wouldn’t follow the story line. I haven’t been participating in a saga this fucked up, with absurdities that Fellini would call over the top, for the ending scene not to be something spectacular. Other people end up on the obituary page – my tale will be too gruesome to print in anything other than the ‘Weekly World News’ or online pay-sites.

With that in mind, I wonder how often in this decompartmentalized world in which we live, where people have become more and more isolated (and by extension, more and more delusional), that any of us stop and consider the sanity of those around us? Sanity, in itself, is hard enough to define, but wondering about the breaking point of so many lunatics in an area this congested (New York City metro) is too much to contemplate. I say this because recently I’ve wondered if “befriending” a certain person, I’ll call her ‘Agnes’, was maybe a fatal mistake. One day you’re bored, looking for a good time, you meet Agnes, have a few laughs, one thing leads to another…. but then it’s Tuesday. And it’s time to move on…. I’m by no means a promiscuous guy. Which is why I figure I’ll be the exception to any rule that says, “Don’t worry. The odds of that happening are a million to one!”…. But I can see my photo, at the top of the hour, on Action News, after the thrilling theme music ends abruptly, and the anchor looks into the camera, with his blowed-dried, frosted hair, and says, “Our top story tonight - A shocking tale of love, lust, and summer time boredom gone horribly, horribly wrong for one New Jersey songwriter! Our Lisa Bella-Thomason has the details….”

Maybe I’m writing this because Agnes frightens me. Maybe I’m writing this because if something happens, or I disappear, and people try to put the pieces of the puzzle together, this will be helpful…. Or maybe I’m writing this so when historians research my family’s history I will offer the reader a fun diversion into my pain and suffering that can’t help but put a smile on the reader’s face. Whatever the reason, Agnes is someone I wish I never met…. I won’t be writing any songs about Agnes. I fear that if I write anything about Agnes after this it will be the obligatory scrawled note saying .. “It ….. was …. Agggggggggggggg……..”