Leaving the Island

12

                   
The next morning both of us will wake up early and take a cab together over to Penn station. I have to get back to Philly for a show and after talking things out while in line for my tickets, I will convince Kyle that he needs to tell Alex about his diagnosis.

In two weeks Kyle will have surgery at Columbia Presbyterian, but the surgery won't be completely successful in removing the tumor.

At a show in Wilmington a month later, I will finally give in and agree to go on a date with Mo. Persistence pays, I guess. For our date we will grab a bite at a diner down in Old City close to Penn's Landing. I will tell him all about the island and about Kyle, which is a shitty thing for me to do on a first date, but Mo will be really cool about it.

I will see Kyle three more times: once for dinner at his house in Connecticut with Alex and twice at the hospice center. Neither of us ever will break down or cry or anything during these meetings.

Later, Alex will ask me to say something at Kyle's funeral, but instead I will ask if I can just play a song.

When I get up to the front of the church and tell people the song I'm going to play, there will be audible giggling from the audience. I will be happy I can bring a little laughter to this depressing bunch.

In the last chorus of Part of Your World, there's a few lyrics that have always gotten to me, and there at the funeral, it's no different. In the movie, Arielle the mermaid sings about how she wants to join the world of men:

I'm ready to know what the people know,

Ask 'em my questions and get some answers.

What's a fire and why does it--what's the word--Burn?

It's silly, a goddamn kids' song. But for me, I've never interpreted those lyrics literally.

For me those lyrics are about yearning. Not for a lover or soul mate, per se, but for a feeling—a feeling that's always been there, latent. And every once in a while maybe it comes to life although it's gone almost before you realize it. And once it's gone, well maybe it will come back one day, but you can't force it. Because, as opposed to in fairy tales, in the real world there's nobody to wave a wand and make things happen—no matter what you're willing to trade in return. There's no giving up your fins for legs, no chance at the prince, no magic. We can only keep our heads down and keep swimming, steadily against the current, waiting for the moment when things turn our way.