Two Lost Souls Swimming in a Fishbowl

A Letter to My Son, On the Cosmic Telephone

This shouldn’t be about me. This should be about him. My beautiful boy, Julian Alexander, died of a seizure little over a week ago at 15. He lived with Amy, his mother, in Vermont, and I saw them both shortly before he passed. Since 2020, I have been aware of his condition: SUDEP—Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy. Julian was nonverbal, but he loved many things, including music. He was poetic. He was artistic. He was sensitive. He wanted to impress girls. Amy asked me to make a playlist of music I loved when I was 15. I wanted my stories and my experiences to inform his. I wanted to be a character in a story, where he might have thought: and then what happened? When the world was different, I wrote a long essay accompanying this mix. Amy was going to read it to him the day we lost him.

After John Lennon died, George Harrison said that he couldn’t reach John on the telephone, but he could still try on the cosmic telephone. It’s a lot harder to do, but if anyone could have cracked the code, it would have been George. Julian was born on June 17, 2009. I was born on January 1, 1973. At 15, my room was filled with records, mostly scratched and used. I had books and dusty back issues of Rolling Stone. I was studying jazz piano at a performing arts high school in Dallas where Roy Hargrove was a senior. It was a gauntlet. I knew I wouldn’t ever be nearly that good. What would I do? I didn’t know. But I had music to guide me. I had something to live up to. Then there were girls. I was figuring them out and the music at the same time. I was a moody teenager and I complained sometimes, as one does at that age. But I really loved life. I was amazed by it. I was grateful for anything good. I was also anxious. I was sickly and fragile. It turned out that there was a rotting foundation underneath my bedroom, and this was making me sick on a regular basis. My parents figured that out when I was in college.

Julian couldn’t talk, but he had ways of expressing his preferences. I’m going to imagine some questions and observations.

So, you had girls in your bed?

Sometimes, yes. When I was lucky.

How far did that go?

Not all the way. Not yet.

When did that happen?

16. But we are talking about 15. The last year of innocence. And we did go all the way with the music. And that’s what we’re here to talk about.

How did you find out about music with no internet?

That’s a good question. Rolling Stone, record stores, word of mouth, my jazz piano teacher.

How did you know that you wouldn’t be as good as Roy Hargrove?

Because talent like that is one in a million, and when you are in the presence, you just have to appreciate without coveting.

Coveting?

That’s one of the 10 Commandments. You aren’t supposed to covet, to wish you had something that wasn’t yours.

I wish for things that I don’t have.

I wish for those things, too.

So do you believe in the commandment against coveting?

Not really. But coveting can drive you crazy.

What good does coveting do?

It does some good if it motivates you. But there are some things you just can’t have.

I thought this was supposed to cheer me up.

Sorry. You’re right.

Let’s get to the tunes and you tell me why this is your message to me.

Ok I’ll tell you about this made me feel. Then I want to know if I’m reaching you.

Get to it already. This is getting boring. And hey, why did you post such an old picture of me.

Because I love that smile of yours, and you look so happy.

(Rolls his eyes.) Whatever.

Sorry. Here we go.

1. REM, “The Wrong Child”

   Michael Stipe had a way of extending a line that would make all the hairs on my body stand up. I hope you know what I mean. Peter Buck and the mandolins strummed the melancholy, and Stipe, known as “Michael Mumbles,” found a new lucidity. You could see why he didn’t want you to hear him. It was too vulnerable. It was like living over a moldy foundation.

   Tell me what it's like to go outside
   I've never been
   Tell me what it's like to just go outside
   I've never been
   And I never will

   I'm not supposed to be like this
   I'm not supposed to be like this, but it's okay

   Is it okay? That’s what we tell ourselves.

2. The Smiths, “Shoplifters of the World Unite”

   There was a girl who inspired me to get Louder than Bombs. She was so cool and sophisticated, a year older. After a little while, she thought she outgrew them. They were trite. On to the next phase, Missy Phase. Not to me. I never outgrew them. Lisa Simpson is with me on this. Johnny Marr’s guitar was magic, and Morrissey hated everyone more than the rest of us ever could. Plus, he brought Oscar Wilde to rock and roll. What’s to outgrow about that? Learning to love me has an instruction manual and is bundled with staging a revolution. Hand it over, please.

3. Thelonious Monk, ‘“Round Midnight”

   I learned how to play this at 14, but at 15, I got somewhere else. First you learn it, then you feel it, then you make people feel what I’m feeling. I didn’t have a bedtime at 15, but there were school nights. This is the sound of night coming on. A brooding E Flat Minor phrase, leading to more chords, but the melody is sustained. It is a series of moods when everything around you is a mystery, and everything ahead makes the heart beat faster. But it’s slow. Night falls, but you slip into it like a warm bath. The drama of being Thelonious Monk hovers over every note. Genius, bipolar, misdiagnosed, a high priest, a freak. But he gets us through the night. He is holding it together, and you know it won’t last long.

   Dad, you’re losing me here. Can we just get to the stuff I like?

   Ok, but we might not get to 15.

   We don’t need to get to 15. That was your idea.

   I have a few other things that I played.

   Boring.

   Sorry. Let’s end this with 5. Can we do 5 that I already love?

   Sure.

   Do you still love Pink Floyd?

   Of course I do.

4. Pink Floyd, “Wish You Were Here”
   I fell in love with this at 12, when I had a bar mitzvah, but I had not experienced real loss, even though I had lost my grandfather and loved him. But I really hadn’t lost anything yet, but I knew I would eventually lose everything. I didn’t know how yet.

   … How I wish, how I wish you were here
   We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl
   Year after year
   And I do. None of this makes any sense. But we can hold the ones we still have and find succor. There’s a guy listening to the radio. He recognizes a song he and he starts finger picking. Is it his song? We don’t know. He becomes the lead singer and the lead guitar player. It’s as if we listeners are taking over. That’s what he does. He’s listening, and then he takes over. It’s his song now. He wishes someone was here. I wish you were here.

5. Richard and Linda Thomposon, “Wall of Death”

   Listen that guitar hero with the Northern English Brogue. Richard and Linda were about to break up, but they wanted to have one more carnival. We love scary movies and rollercoasters. We want to feel fear so we can be exhilarated.

   On the Wall Of Death all the world is far from me
   On the Wall Of Death it's the nearest to being free

   The wall of death is not about real death. It’s about the childhood fantasy of it. When I listen to it now, it reaches to the other side. It will never be the same.