I got back to St. Marks, bought some flowers at the market, crossed the street and, made my way up the block to Eric’s front door. People were already gathering. There were pictures and flowers and candles. The air was cold but, the vibe could not have been warmer. Eric would have loved it. I approached Bette and Peppy. Peppy shook my hand firmly while holding a ceremonial drum in the other. Bet gave me a kiss and a hug and began to immediately explain that the cast might not happen as the funeral home wasn’t comfortable with the idea and nearing it's closing time. I asked Bette for the phone number of the funeral home and told her not to worry. I called them as she gave me the number. I explained to the director of the home that I needed to do this in order to carry out the deceased’s last wishes and that it would only take an hour. He told me in that case that it had to be done as soon as possible. I told him that I was in the process of jumping into a cab as we spoke. Bette smiled sweetly and stroked my cheek. I told her that I’d be back soon. I left the crowd of mourners to Eric’s first memorial. I was now on my way to my own private memorial for Eric, one that would give birth to an object more powerful than I could then foresee. As I made my way in the back seat of the taxi, trepidation was taken over by determination and my sense of obligation to all those who were waiting to see the product of my promise. I sat back, trying to save my energy and strength, to take a moment and breath. As the cab made its way up fourteenth st. I kept my eyes open for the address, trying to relax a bit before the emotional earth quake I was about to confront.
The cab pulled over and I got out and, strode wrapped in the illusion of confidence through the mortuaries front entrance. I was greeted by the doorman to whom I explained why I was there. He told me that they were expecting me and asked me to take a seat and wait for the director. As I sat there I could feel my heart pounding but some how found a way to keep my cool. The director came in and shook my hand and placed his other hand on my shoulder. Very few words were exchanged. There was no need to explain. He already knew why I was there. He led me down a hall then through a door to what he called the holding room. It was a fairly large room by NYC standards, maybe 200 square feet. It was wood paneled half way up its walls and nicely carpeted. There wasn’t much in it, a casket, a kneeling alter, and a large card board box on a gurney. The director reached into his pocket and took out a small utility knife and cut through the tape that held the box shut. I was stuck by how unceremonious this all seemed but, guessed that this was how most people were delivered from the hospital. He pulled back the boxes flaps and unzipped the white plastic bag inside and there was Eric. Bald and old and toothless and ravaged by cancer, raped and ripped by the fiercest torments of agonies that the physically fit could never fathom. There he lay, strangely as beautiful as any of nature’s greatest triumphs. His head was turned slightly to the side. His eyes where still half opened as if lost in a wonderful doped up day dream. His smile was as serene and sublime as the best Buda had ever offered with more than a dollop of underlying subversion and mischief which of course was what Eric was largely about. Around his neck he wore two braided string necklaces, one blue, and one red. These some how lent Eric an air of child like innocents. The notion of the necklaces made a smile break out across my face as I drifted for a moment into all of the chats that we had about the power of the energy of youth and about how the future was secure because the kids are alright. My smile was also born of the oxy-moron. Of all the words to describe this worldly scallywag, innocents would wait soundly slumbering at the opposite end of the thesuaral spectrum. The director asked me what I would need beyond the kit I had brought with me. I told him that I would need access to running water and some kind of covering in order to protect the carpet. He told me that there was a rest room through the next door down the hall. He gave me a disposable casket cover to tarp the floor. I asked him if it would be better for me to do this in the room were they prepare the bodies and he told me that there was already a body in there and that Eric couldn’t be move because another funeral was now in progress. I thanked him. He turned and left the room. The door shut behind him.
