The Idea (Epilogue)

Hola maestro! You probably didn’t expect me to write to you so soon, but I want to talk to you about an idea I had a long time ago. You already know that these e-mails are very freaking long. The biggest emails I’ve ever written, to be honest. From the beginning of this project, when in class you asked me to send you assignments about my life, you could already see that it would be a long story. I think all these messages would make good chapters of a novel. They really wouldn’t even need to be modified too much. I would like to publish everything I have told you in a book. Each e-mail would be a chapter. What do you think?

For my part, I have some good reasons for wanting to do this. The first is very pragmatic. I intend to go to Israel, where there is a family that accuses me of being a stalker pervert. There is a report with the Netanya police saying as much. It’s the twenty-first century, maestro. When I apply for a visa, it may be that there are negative things about me on some record somewhere, or possibly the immigration authorities will have to do an investigation or something. I want the whole world to know my story beforehand, and I want to prevent the van Ouwerkerks from putting more trouble my way. They may call me a pervert, but I want my side of the story to be available to everyone.

Frankly, the best thing for me would be for Noah van Ouwerkerk to be a friend, so if some Israeli legal authority started causing trouble with me, the real Electrochemical Girl could come to my aid and say I’m not a stalker. I can’t help but think that it would be advantageous to have contact with her. However, it is obvious that Noah van Ouwerkerk, the real Electrochemical Girl, hates me. In this modern world, moreover, it would be absolutely terrible to try to contact her. But there’s a chance that Noah will read my book and have mercy on me. I do not want to rule out the possibility that one day she will call me to tell me not to worry about the police because she will defend me. After all, this whole thing started when she put a song on her playlist saying not to worry about the police. Remember that? You already know that the devil controls the police, right? This is why blacks usually don’t survive long on the roads in the United States. Of course you already know that the police are the devil. You’re Mexican.

With the way things are now, if I were to actually be in Israel, I would have to drive around Netanya, her home, by a wide berth. If I spend a lot of time in Israel, I am sure that at some point I will have my own friends and my own life in that country. I could defend myself. If I were to have problems with some authority in the long run, further down the road, I suppose I would go to Israeli jail or pay my fines like any other Israeli. But initially, if I have problems with the authorities, they will immediately want to deport me without allowing me to return. I have already told you in my narrative that there are many demons in Israel. The devil doesn’t want me to be there. I’m dangerous to him. He has always hated the Jews because every idea about his demise comes from them. And I know a lot about him and how he operates, and he just absolutely does not want me to cause problems for his plans to destroy Israel and the Jews. So I have opposition on spiritual fronts. I’m a bit nervous. And going there with an ongoing situation of a woman who hates me, or who is complying with the plans of her family to oppose me, just gives Satan more tools with which to cause me problems. But I think going public with my story might help, including the idea – probably very crazy – that there is any possibility that I might consider Noah to be something other than an enemy.

And yes, maestro, I confess that I think it would help me to meet the real Noah. Gaining this connection to reality could ease any remaining insanity in me, after this great terrible adventure with drugs and obsession.

Obviously this contact with me would be of no benefit to Noah. But that’s my final point. I have told you that I think that God has made me into a creature of rage. It’s only fitting, considering the amount of disappointment I’ve felt after my experience with Israel and the van Ouwerkerks. Many times I asked God for a sign, something that would tell me that my anger and disappointment were unjustified. I have searched for reasons to become a kind creature. Noah’s love, and I am talking about just the love that the Good Samaritan had for the wounded Jew, would truly bring my heart to life.

For months I wrote her poems and stories begging her for healing, friendship and love. But I only received silence and sometimes I hate. Maybe poems and short stories weren’t enough, but maybe a damned novel could convince her of my perspective. I hope that the drama and comedy of this story serve to earn the dignity that those who are not an enemy deserve.

If the real Noah van Ouwerkerk does nothing else, and I never hear from her again, I will continue to love her as Israel incarnate and as the Electrochemical Girl who lives in my head. My interpretation of all this is that the girl, with her songs in my head, is Israel, even if it doesn’t have much to do with the real Noah van Ouwerkerk. Despite everything, I love all three of them. Noah, the Electrochemical Girl, and Israel. I have already told you that this is my right. As a knight to the king of love that I am, I am allowed to love any stranger I choose. I don’t need any other justification. Love does not require justification. I have also told you that this love does not mean that I have to fuck anyone or steal anyone off to a cave for my personal pleasure. Love is nothing other than a devotion to another. And I have it. I do not need anything else.

Obviously she doesn’t want more. No problem. In this case, I just leave my door open. If she contacts me, she will find kindness on my part. This is my promise. I will never leave her or forsake her. I will always accept her heed her wish.

In addition to the above, maestro, I want to make our class work an autobiographical novel, but not just to earn money. I want to have something public and complete that helps me explain my inexplicable story. My wish is to make known to any person or group that needs to know something about me, including Noah van Ouwerkerk, that I am not an enemy, but a brother of faith.

There is one final reason to put this thing in public. It’s the silliest one, and rather contradictory to what I have written above, which all comes from a resignation that the songs were some sort of message from God that has nothing to do with the girl. Further, it actually doesn’t specifically pertain to the local situation, but to the world at large. Do you remember my story about the naked crazy woman at Parque Rojo who everybody just ignored, and nobody reacted to or cared about? This has to do with that idea.

So if that chick was playing songs to me, and I to her, well, it would be a miracle. I’ve said with my last, well, let’s call them “chapters” now, that receiving a playlist from God that provided me with a personal destiny would be miracle enough. It certainly feels that way to me. However, I think that it would be plainly obvious to anyone involved that if I were communicating with this girl via Spotify it would be such a spectacular violation of the law of probability that it could only be considered a miracle by just about anyone. I think it would be a miracle of such magnitude that making it known would be worth far more than any shame or inconvenience that might come from it being known. So what if an old man and a teenager fell in love. They met through exchanging Spotify songs from one side of the earth to the other! That this pisses off her dad seems a rather paltry detail, doesn’t it?

Yes, I do suppose that there could be a certain anxiety surrounding the extremely high likelihood that this is not the case. Finding out that this miracle didn’t occur could be a huge downer for anyone reading, I suppose. Not for me. Again, I found a personal destiny through those songs. So I guess I am not afraid to find out. I would love to know if a miracle love happened, and if I find out it didn’t, well, I got my calling in life from a Spotify playlist, and that’s cool enough for me. And I would just be glad to know that I have enough contact with this woman to have an assurance that she is not out there trying to destroy me.

But concerning the world at large, well, I can’t believe nobody wants to know. I’ve shown bits and pieces of this story to family and friends. Even to other members of their messianic synagogue. People in America, Israel, and Mexico. I have to say that it shocks me that nobody out there has said, “hey, this is intense. Personal destiny, healing, friendship and safety, and even some possibility of miraculous romance. I’m going to get in contact with Noah and have her call you.”

I feel like I am that naked woman wandering around in a crowded city and everybody is just going about their business like I am not there. I talked above about being made into an angry person. And that disappointment is at the heart of it. So there are seven billion people in the world. I wonder, is there nobody out there who will call that chick up and try to convince her to call me? Does anyone on earth want to know if there was a miraculous romance? Does anyone think maybe she should call me and tell me she isn’t going to call the police on me if she accidentally sees me on the street in Jerusalem?

It’s like, from everybody who knows about this story, well, they generally all have concluded that it’s simply impossible that those songs were for me. They’re likely right, but does any one of the seven billion people on earth even want to know for sure? Occasionally someone looks at them and sees some of the strange coincidences in them and thinks, “hmm. Interesting. Could be.” But I look at them thinking, “there is no way I will ever be able to find out. But you could. You could talk to her, and you could try and convince her to call me.” Nobody has.

I know young women her age. My daughter and Chloe and others. I talked to my daughter about it, and she just got embarrassed. “My dad’s a fucking nutjob. I’ve always known that and generally think that’s what makes him cool, but for some reason finding out if a miracle occurred is embarrassing.” Despite that, she did actually talk to Noah a bit, God love that angel, and they blocked her too! You know, I’ve made many statements about how much I love my daughter in this “book,” if we are calling it that now, but as for details about her, the only thing I mentioned was that she ditched me for her boyfriend and ran off to Germany. I guess that’s how the story rolled out. Kind of like Harold. Probably a pretty cool guy. I had a good time with him sharing beers on his deck. But for the purposes of this story, he has the role of archvillain. Oh well, that’s how the story goes. There are other stories to tell, I suppose. So I guess concerning my diamond Alia, one thing I can say, out of all of the people I have shared this story with, she is the ONLY person who has ever tried to help me solve the Noah mystery. She is the only person in Parque Rojo who gave the naked insane lady her coat. But I know this is an embarrassing thing for her. It’s personal. It’s her dad. And she can’t do anything about it now anyway.

But there has to be somebody else out there. Some matronly kind woman who nobody could distrust. She could find Noah and tell her, “this guy just needs to know what kind of miracle you are. He needs to know if you were a channel of divine energy who gave him purpose in life without knowing it, or if you are a lover from the other side of the universe brought to him by Spotify songs. That’s all. Can you send him a message on Telegram and tell him?”

Disappointment is a bitch, maestro. That the unifying force of all reality, the mother of the Higgs boson, is that Noah van Ouwerkerk will not talk to Jonathan Bailey. Out of all the seven billion people on earth, there has to be someone who wants to know too. Is absolutely everyone on the planet convinced that nothing serendipitous can ever happen? Is that what mankind is? Is nobody even curious to know if a miracle happened? Or maybe from a sense more personal to me, perhaps more self-centered, but does nobody want to cure me of my neurosis? I think I won’t ever be able to get past it because I will never be able to live with myself if a miracle occurred and I didn’t find out about it. If a woman loved me and I just left her. And sure, it’s self-centered whining, but nobody gives a shit, maestro. Nobody gives a shit. Sometimes I wonder if I am the most insane person on earth. But sometimes I wonder if I am the last person on earth who gives a shit.

I want to find out if there is anyone else out there who does too.

So, maestro, I want to publish this story. I have my reasons. Can you help me find a publisher? I’ll be home all night if you want to talk about it. Thanks for everything.

6 Comments

  1. If one can fall in love, sight unseen, through written letters and poetry, then it’s entirely conceivable that one can fall in hate on a glimpse, a futile phone-call and an impossible Spotify list.
    You might be that crazy lady in Mexico, but she’s seen something of God. At least for a few hours or days, you sure seem like you were her compatriot in crazy, and you sure sound like you’ve seen something of God.
    ECG could go nuts one day and see something of God… Things could change.

    I went nuts. More than once. I changed.

      1. If you’ve seen that movie “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” I’m living it. You never feel like you have enough. But you do. But not feeling like you have enough is a critical part of the story. If you feel like you have enough, does it work? If Walter was acting like everything was fine, would the story have worked?

        The conversation between Walter and Sean on the mountainside is probably the clearest conversation a human has ever had with God that has ever been captured on film.

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