“Fame is a horrible thing to do to someone.”
I talk to Kurt all the time, probably more than when he was alive.
He’s certainly much easier to deal with.
Fame is a horrible thing to do to someone.
Sometimes I see my father going along, handling things beautifully, especially for a vet with PTSD. He didn’t drink himself to death or kill himself or anyone else. He was driving along, doing pretty well, and then there’s a hairpin curve called fame; through the guardrail and over the cliff he goes. If it wasn’t for art, for trying to tell the truth to save his own life, which he noticed made him and others less lonely, he would have ended up gone and I wouldn’t exist. And no one would be asking what it would be like to have lunch with him now. I’ve never known a human who was less interested in food. He never cooked or seemed even a little bit interested in what things tasted like. His biggest concern with a restaurant was whether they’d let him smoke. He got away with stuff because he was famous, like smoking in restaurants. Who wants the job of telling an icon not to smoke?
I wonder if he’d tell me the truth about things, like doctors telling him he should keep smoking. I don’t wonder that much; I think we both knew when he was lying. Mostly we’d talk about art and beauty and writing—how hard it is to try and how good it feels to get things right. I bought ten acres with my share of the royalties from Slaughterhouse-Five. I wander around sort of gardening the place, bragging a little about how much more land I own than he ever did and how beautiful I’m going to make it, and I thank him for what I learned watching him go from thing to thing to do gardening.
Dirt—Garden—Dirt.
I love how he gardened, but he’s easier to deal with now that he watches over me.
And I amuse the hell out of him.
Mark Vonnegut has published two books, The Eden Express and Just Like Someone Without Mental Illness Only More So. He’s practiced primary care pediatrics for thirty-five years and is now taking care of babies of the babies he took care of when he started. He still writes, paints, and plays music. Life is good.