EL Lewis         Page 1  11/2/05

 

 

My life is made up of characters.
For some reason it is easier for me to think of them that way, as creations.
All of them affect my life, some stronger than others.
Some, of course, are as forgettable as plucked eyebrow hairs. You feel them sharply for a moment and then remembrance is gone.
The most unforgettable, most unlike a plucked eyebrow hair, is hard to pinpoint.
But I think it can be done.
For me it would be Eddie Overhill.
A friend, but distant enough to be considered a "character."
Stuck in traffic, to and from Nashville, TN, he sings aloud to the music playing on the radio.
This is standard behavior, I think. Nothing remarkable or memorable.
"Remarkable" is the length of ribbon in the glove box. Regulation size for serious ribbon dancing.  
"Remarkable" comes when the traffic starts to move and the ribbon flies out of the driver's side window as he belts out his favorite indie-rock tunes.
Another of his skills, one that has influenced my ideas of perception and imagination, deals with details.
More than anyone I have ever met, he creates lives for people that are probably better than the lives they live.
In Eddie's mind, the man in head-to-toe denim at the last show is a man who dwells on the past. He sits in his denim, most likely on the verge of some great artistic revelation, and thinks about how much more credible rock stars of the past were. Not only progressive in terms of music, but also in terms of style. He thinks all of this as he sits at his desk. A cubicle in some health insurance office, or, worse, a stall in a horse stable. Of course, if he worked on a ranch or farm, his denim tuxedo would have a validity Eddie cannot afford to give it.
In truth this man probably knew it was going to be cold and this was his only clean ensemble.
It is better, as Eddie has taught me, to invent a history.  
He, perhaps, is the reason I see the character in everyone I encounter. This character, this Eddie Overhill, has turned my entire life into a procession of characters, a parade of possibilities.