E Is for Evidence

spraying on the drapes. He didn't "get it." Fury didn't make any sense to him. He couldn't see the connection between his behavior and the wrath that was generated as a consequence. What the man did really well was play. He was a free spirit, whimsical, inventive, tireless, sweet. Jazz piano, sex, travel, parties, he was wonderful at those… until he got bored, of course, or until reality surfaced, and then he was gone. I had never been taught how to play, so I learned a lot from him. I'm just not sure it was anything I really needed to know.
    I found a parking spot six doors away. Daniel's car was parked in front of my place. He was leaning against the fender. There was a paper bag with twine handles near his feet, a baguette of French bread sticking out of it like a baseball bat.
    "I thought you might be gone by today," I said.
    "I talked to my friend. It looks like I'll be here a couple days more."
    "You find a place to stay?"
    "I hope so. There's a little motel here in the neighbor-hood that will have a room free later. Some folks are check-ing out."
    "That's nice. You can reclaim your stuff."
    "I'll do that as soon as I know for sure."
    "What's that?" I said, pointing at the baguette.
    He looked down at the sack, his gaze following mine. "Picnic," he said. "I thought I'd play the piano some, too."
    "How long have you been here?"
    "Since six," he said. "You feel all right? You look beat."
    "I am. Come on in. I hope you have wine. I could use some."
    He pushed away from the car, toting the bag as he followed me through the gate. We ended up at Henry's, sitting on the floor in his living room. Daniel had bought twenty-five votive candles and he arranged those around the room until I felt like I was sitting in the middle of a birthday cake. We had wine, pate, cheeses, French bread, cold salads, fresh raspberries, and sugar cookies the size of Frisbees. I stretched out afterward in a food-induced rev-erie while Daniel played the piano. Daniel didn't play music so much as he discovered it, calling up melodies, pursuing them across the keys, embroidering, embel-lishing. His background was in classical piano, so he warmed up with Chopin, Liszt, the intricacies of Bach, drifting over into improvisation without effort.
    Daniel stopped abruptly.
    I opened my eyes and looked at him.
    His expression was pained. He touched at the key-board carelessly, a sour chord. "It's gone. I don't have it anymore. I gave up drugs and the music went with "em."
    I sat up. "What are you talking about?"
    "Just what I said. It was the choice I had to make, but it's all bullshit. I can live without drugs, babe, but not without music. I'm not made that way."
    "It sounded fine. It was beautiful."
    "What do you know, Kinsey? You don't know any-thing. That was all technique. Mechanics. I got no soul. The only time music works is when I'm burning with smack, flying. This is nothing. Half-life. The other is better… when I'm on fire like that and give it all away. You can't hold back. It's all or nothin'."
    I could feel my body grow still. "What are you say-ing?" Dumb question. I knew.
    His eyes glowed and he pinched his thumb and index finger together near his lips, sucking in air. It was the gesture he always used when he was about to roll a joint. He looked down at the crook of his elbow and made a fist lovingly.
    "Don't do that," I said.
    "Why not?"
    "It'll kill you."
    He shrugged. "Why can't I live the way I want? I'm the devil. I'm bad. You should know that by now. There isn't anything I wouldn't do just for the hell of it… just to stay awake. Fuck. I'd like to fly again, you know? I'd like to feel good. I'll tell you something about being straight… it's a goddamn drag. I don't know how you put up with it. I don't know how you keep from hangin' yourself."
    I crumpled up paper napkins and stuffed them in the sack, gathered paper plates, plastic ware, the empty wine bottle, cardboard containers. He sat on the piano bench, his hands held loosely in his lap. I doubted he'd live to see forty-three.
    "Is that why you came back?" I asked. "To lay this on me. What do you want, permission? Approval?"
    "Yeah, I'd like that."
    I started blowing out candles, darkness gathering like smoke around the edges of the room. You can't argue with people who fall in love with death. "Get out of my life, Daniel. Would you just do that?"

20
    I got up Monday morning at 6:00 and did a slow, agonizing five-mile jog. I was in bad shape and I had no business being