Lost at the Fair while Seeing Clay Aiken
10/07/04
by Diane Sprague
Sometimes the words don’t come. Many times I just stare at the screen wishing that I could express something lying just below the surface but find I cannot, so mainly I just shrug my shoulders and walk away wondering why some things remain so elusive. One trick that sometimes works is to write about something else and slowly attempt to inch towards what I really want to say. Who knows, if I dance around it enough, I might get near enough to touch it. I might just end up with a mess of words, but maybe I can come close enough to satisfy my need to peak at what hides underneath.
So… I will start by talking about the Erie County Fair. I usually don’t like crowded, noisy places, so when I was there about a month ago with my daughter, Elizabeth, to see Clay, I started out in a rather foul mood. I had just eaten a full meal, and the persistent smell of fried foods made me feel a bit ill. All the attractions were overpriced, over hyped, and loud. I muttered to myself my ongoing complaint about how many ridiculous things I have exposed myself to just to see Clay. Too many tedious, mindless television shows were beginning to take their toll and now this. We walked by the tents filled with animals and I could not for the life of me determine how someone could walk through and decide which one deserves a ribbon. I mean, for goodness sakes, a cow is a cow. And then there was the constant beckoning by the people in the booths who were trying to entice us into playing their impossible games for the grand prize of a 5 foot tall stuffed animal that would be guaranteed to give any sane person nightmares if it were to be brought home.
Grump, grump, grump. After awhile my need to be critical began to subside and I actually began to enjoy myself. A little bit of cotton candy works wonders for one’s mood and the colorful sights and sounds of the fair began to intrigue me. It was a bizarre world that reflects many of the absurd patterns of life. So instead of criticizing it, I just let go and looked around in wonder.
The afternoon passed quickly and the concert time was approaching. We went to the concert pre-party which allowed us to sit in large windowed section overlooking the concert area. It was fun to watch the process of setting up concert. Elizabeth used her binoculars to search for Clay in the crowd. At one point, I ended up doing a double take when thought I heard her say, “I can’t tell if I see Clay Aiken or a chicken." Actually, she was reading a sign and could not tell if the words said Clay Aiken or chicken. We both laughed when I told her the picture that formed in my mind when I heard her words.
When we were able to get into the concert, I was pleasantly surprised to see we could sit in a reasonably good section with only general admission tickets. The evening was warm and clear and the show was great. It was fun. Clay’s voice was crystal clear and the joy he always reveals was contagious. Each song was thoroughly enjoyable, but somehow I felt I was searching for someway to define for myself what exactly I was hearing that meant so much to me. I was disappointed when Clay started singing Invisible because I knew that signaled the concert’s end and I wasn’t ready for that. I wanted the show to be stretched out further so I could grasp the elusive explanation. Maybe I just was not listening well enough or maybe I just needed more time. Oh well, Solitaire was still to come.
When Clay sang Solitaire, his voice filled everything. Nothing else existed, just the voice. I stood frozen in my spot. Everything I was trying to understand was there, even though I could not define it. I could not explain. At the end of the concert, I turned to Elizabeth and dumbly stated, “He was good.” I could not say anymore. The words were gone. All I could do was whisper to myself my surprising secret, “So this is what made me strong.”
Because that is what happened. A few years back I was an absolute wreck. Living for years in an abusive situation had taken its toll on me. I broke down inside and could not stop the incessant stream of thoughts that echoed the words I was continually hearing about how worthless I was. My sleepless nights were filled with violent self-destructive thoughts that I had no power to silence. Nothing helped. The people around me quickly turned away when they saw how ugly my situation was. In desperation, when I would reach for Clay’s music while cynically muttering to myself that this could not possibly help me, I was always shocked by the almost immediate effect his singing would have on me. Each and every time I listened to him, the unstoppable thoughts would disappear and in their place I would find a calm, peaceful part of me that I wasn’t even aware existed. It was something completely new, a different part of me that could be strong, that could say no to the constant bullying, and that could find a new way home.
Over and over again, throughout that very rough time, I found the strength I needed to begin untangling myself from the trap that held me tight. Even though it seemed impossible from me to do so, I went back to school fulltime. Countless times, I would become discouraged, but another part of me remained determined. Filling the background of my study time with Clay’s music kept me going. I was able to meet my goals, get my degree, and take the steps that were needed to slowly break away from the situation that was destroying me.
So many times, I wanted to provide myself with an explanation as to why Clay’s singing had such a powerful effect upon me. I have gone from telling myself that I creatively created a grand and powerful illusion, that I reached inside and found a deep, sustaining psychological myth with wonderful Jungian overtones, that true art and beauty can have miraculous effects, or even that something surprisingly magical happened. Yet so many times I have provided myself with explanations for things and it ends up being little versions of Humpty Dumpty sitting on a shelf. I would proudly display my silly eggs. I would brag and say, “See now I understand.” And so quickly they would fall to the ground creating a mess of shells and egg whites and yolks so that when all the king’s horses came, they turned away and shook their heads at my stupidity. I don’t know. It’s just so easy to pretend, to explain, and to make it seem like it all makes sense.
But it doesn’t. As we walked through the fair after the concert, I realized that I had mindlessly entered the fair without noting the gate number and major attractions that were near our entrance. We were lost. The fair was spread throughout a very sizeable plot of land, so we wandered. The bright lights and multicolored attractions took on a rather bizarre quality in the darkness of the night. Some inebriated people were shouting and fighting. The greasy food smell which had disgusted me earlier began to entice me now that I was a bit hungry again. I was somewhat frightened by our predicament, somewhat intrigued by the process of just wandering, and somewhat angry at myself for being such a mindless bungler. The symbolic connection of this searching for something I did not know how to find to my life was clear. Life is a place where I just wander. I remain puzzled, lost, frightened, intrigued, and comforted by the fact that in the middle of this madness was a place where I got lost in the music and the beauty of something powerful and real.
Somehow we managed to retrace our steps and find a few buildings that enabled us to determine the correct gate. We found our car and drove home. No matter how much I stumble through life, it seems I always manage to find my way home. When we arrived at our house, my son came to greet us and ask us how the concert was. I started to say, “Oh, he was so good…” but my son’s blank stare reminded me how inadequate my words would be. Instead, I told him the story about Clay Aiken and the chicken. I knew he would get a kick out of that one. Humor often fills our gaps of silence so nicely. Even when the words do not come, we can laugh and enjoy the secrets we cannot explain. Maybe I will never find the words to adequately describe what has happened to me these past few years, but it was very real and powerful. I doubt I will ever be able to thank Clay personally for what he did for me, and these silly articles only mean so much, but it does feel right to write about it, however inadequately, in hopes that no real explanation might still be heard, and perhaps, even partially understood.
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