Justin Tussing - Vexation Lullaby

The bigger question, it seems to me: How much longer do WE expect this to go on? I’m not the only one to think Cross has seemed a bit erratic this fall. He put on a hell of a show last night, so why did it leave me feeling uneasy? Why did it leave you uneasy? These are the sorts of questions that make the winter so long and lonely.

Yours,

Arthur Pennyman

Mr. Pennyman,

My name is Raven Warren. I am writing you in my capacity as a curator for the Center for American Music and Folk Art in Los Angeles. If you’re not familiar with CAMFA, let me catch you up to speed. We are a 501(c)(3) nonprofit committed to preserving and protecting the rich heritage of American art makers. As you may know, the center is in the process of creating a digital archive. I would be very interested in talking with you about your Jimmy Cross project. If you would have time to meet with me, I could tell you why CAMFA can offer an ideal repository for your records. As you know, the University of Wisconsin and the Smithsonian have already secured, respectively, Cross’s papers and existent recordings; I also know, from conversations with board members, that neither institution envisions acquiring secondary materials.

When you have a chance, I hope we can discuss how CAMFA might protect your significant legacy.

Warmly,

Raven Warren

Director of Digital Media Archives, CAMFA

Dear Raven,

Thank you for your interest in my project. You’ve reached me at a good time, as I’ve been wondering what shall become of this material once I can no longer take care of it. Future Cross scholars — as well as sociologists, musicians, cultural historians, etc. — will want access to my materials. JimCrossCompendium is very much an active community: last month the site had more than eighty thousand page views!

Perhaps CAMFA would be interested in cosponsoring next year’s leg of the tour?! Or maybe there are other models of support that might serve both of our interests. I’d be very interested in having that discussion with you.

And, yes, I’ve followed the jousting between UWisconsin and the Smithsonian. However, I’m surprised you didn’t mention the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. They’re the ones I’ve always expected would come calling — they’re certainly aware of me: my server regularly records visitors from their ISP. Considering Paul Allen’s financial resources and his background with computers, they would be a natural match. And don’t forget: Cross was inducted into the Hall of Fame in ’88!

Ultimately, I want my project to land with an organization that appreciates my efforts and recognizes the significance of the materials. Let’s talk soon. In the meantime, the road calls.

Yours,

Arthur

Arthur,

I’m sorry if my behavior got out of hand the other night. I should have told you the timing wasn’t ideal. I’ve had a lot of things on my plate (har har), but I knew you were looking forward to seeing me and I didn’t want to let you down. Do you know anything about People-Pleasers? Basically it boils down to me constantly asking myself if the people around me are happy? If the people around me are happy, then my life has value and I don’t ask myself the dark questions (Are you happy, Gene?). People take advantage of me sometimes. In the winter my neighbors will ask if they can borrow my snowblower, knowing that instead of letting them borrow my snowblower I’ll probably get up thirty minutes early and clear their driveway before I clear my own. Are they bad people for asking? They don’t think so. If they ask me, I tell them I’m glad to drive them to the airport or watch their cat.

I guess at some point I started seeing Cory as an extension of me, and therefore I didn’t stop to ask, Are you happy, Cory? I don’t know how that happened, but I can see now that it did. And I’ve been drinking more than I should too (instead of “Are you happy, Gene?” I can ask “How about a drink, Gene?”). There are a lot of people who are willing to let you sacrifice yourself trying to make them happy. Many of these people, obviously, are women. Should I be trying to make them happy? I know better, sure, but how much harm is there if I take a woman to lunch and nothing else?

It probably would have been better if I didn’t have you over, but, hey, I wanted to make you happy. And we were having a good time. Did I feed you? I did. Were you entertained? See what I’m saying? But then, after I’d had a few drinks, my mind said, How can I make Gene happy? That’s how I came up with the idea for a fake posting. Was it the cleverest thing I ever came up with? I’m not saying it was. When you said no, I felt like, once again, everyone was taking, taking, taking from Gene. And then you went inside (into the garage apartment I built). Did I overreact? Of course I did.

As you can see, it wasn’t really so much about what you did or didn’t do, but more of a cumulative thing that had been building up for a while. If you spent anything reinflating your tires, please let me know. I’m happy to pay for any damages I did to your property. And, as for your friendship, I’m sorry for any damage I may have done to that, too. Though I realize it may take longer for me to fix that.

Sincerely,

Gene

Dear Gene,

I’m sorry for your troubles and I’m sorry if I inadvertently made more troubles for you. I think it takes a lot of character to sit down and write a letter like that. Most people would pretend it didn’t happen.

While you don’t explicitly ask me to defend my choice of not publishing a fake report, I wanted to point out that the thing that makes JCC different from CrossTracks (or any of the other boards) is that I make a point not to blur those lines between what is good for me and what is good for the fans.

In friendship,

Arthur

I wash my face in the café’s bathroom. Then I swap the yellow button-down shirt I wore this morning for a laundered shirt that Patricia claimed brought out the green in my eyes, my lucky shirt. The shirt was hidden in the most inaccessible compartment of my car, along with a few other things I didn’t expect to need: a sewing kit, a snakebite kit, Gabby’s baby book (not the original one — Patricia has that — but one I put together as a high school graduation gift, though, so far, I’ve failed to give it to her).

Back at the DoubleTree, I stand watching the elevator deliver people and carry them away. Waiting there, I can recall what it was like to anticipate a prom date descending shag-carpeted stairs. I stretch my arms and twist my neck. I never took a date to the prom.

Rosalyn’s not down at five, or ten after. The elevators keep disgorging the wrong people. At twenty past, I assume she’s running a little late. I check with the desk clerk: no messages for Arthur or Artie. I choose not to call her room. I don’t have a reason; I just choose not to.

At six the desk clerk comes over and asks whether I’ve heard from my friend. She seems worried for me, maybe about me. She’s very young, with curly black hair held close to her skull with pins. Perhaps I remind her of a grandparent.

I do not allow my concerns to multiply. I force myself to take a seat on the sofa. I do not allow that I have concerns. Rosalyn will come.

“Ar-thur,” a voice whispers in my ear. “Ar-thur.” Rosalyn stands behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders.

I’d fallen asleep. “Are we ready?”

“In The Holy Screw the narrator and Ruben charter a sailboat on the Aegean. When a storm kicks up — she calls it a tempest — she starts to get seasick, so Ruben tells her to imagine she’s a fish.”

“And that helps?” I pat my pockets; constant traveling has made me conscientious about leaving things behind. I can’t afford to scatter bread crumbs.