It’s a stroke of genius, his idea. But I wouldn’t have said so beforehand. We were on the road, as we often were together. He and I shared so many “road” experiences, it had become the only place we really knew one another.
Between Austin and Boston, and later Budapest and Prague, we were always in betweeners.
I’m not sure when it started, maybe when we were kids sneaking out of our bedroom windows to meet up at the corner and look to see whose lights were still on at that odd hour.
Even then, we would try to notice what was a little off—the anomalies, my friend would call then. Look for the anomalies in life. That’s where the keyhole into real things are at. The best of life is a peep show into Reality, he would say later, after his fancy philosophy degree was earned and at times flaunted in front of me.
Even so, I always liked Francis, even when he seemed to think he knew too much. Like all the names of the existentialist in order, for instance. Or, all the major art movements of the 20th Century and their conjoining philosophical systems which informed them.
Still, we just liked one another. I was just more of an artist type, but he was definitely the thinker. Le Penseur incarnate that guy.
He read for ideas, I read for tone; but we both read a lot. And I mean a lot. Sometimes two whole books or collections of essays a day.
This particular day, we were heading to Harvard Square in Cambridge to see some of my dancer friends. They did modern, and as he would say, post modern dance in plain air—you mean they dance outside in the square, I would tell him. So that my other friends didn’t think he was being aloof or pretentious or whatever.
Well, we arrived in the evening when my street performer friend was setting up his high wire act. Which really wasn’t very high, but was more about walking the rope while juggling. Still, it was impressive, and there were limits to how high a wire could be walked in Harvard Square. Limits to art there, but still art.
My friend would bust his boom box and set up his tripods and get right to juggling, once up on the wire.
Another friend of mine, had dated him once. That was a short date, she said, all he wants is to be on the wire. That line stuck with me. And I remembered it tonight as we arrived just in time to see Wayne get up on his wire.
But when we did arrive this time, something felt odd or at least unique. Not ominous, but teetery. At first, I thought it was the light rain in that weird blue hue that this region harbors. But there was more to it.
We parked in a lot this time, as we weren’t planning on staying long, and walked up and watched from the back of the crowd he had already gathered.
He was playing the beastie boys, and some Prince, and he was mid way through his wonder walk, as he called it. “I will walk you into wonder!” Was the opening line of his act, all these years.
We missed the line, but he was walking the wire well when we arrived, for the record. But just at the end of “Purple Rain” something happened. The wire was shaking like lightening suddenly, and Wayne was looking frazzled. He actually glanced out at his audience, which was a break of his code and habit. Then, suddenly, he fell backward from the small height, and landed right on the back of his head. He wasn’t moving at all then. “Is he dead?” Someone from nowhere shouted. Call 911.
We rushed forwards, breaking through the crown with our elbows. Getting to his body, I put my hand under the back of his head to see if he was bleeding and relieve his neck.
“Wayne are you there? Are you there friend?”
Suddenly he coughed loudly. Every one started cheering.
Then he said something I will never forget.
“Hey man, do I have to fall this hard, to get you here—I mean really here! Well, good to see you nevertheless, but I won’t fall again on your account!”
Later that night, when my friend and I were sleeping in the car next to the park, he, who strangely had been silent since the occurrence, only said: “Man, that guy is such an existentialist! We should stay and meet him again, off the wire!”
The next day, we decided to stay for at least a bit longer, and even strangely started looking for local apartments in Cambridge.