Cleaning House by Joy Colter

HM

Cleaning House by Joy Colter

Mom, you’re gone to the facility I can put things back in their intended spaces without fear of you co-opting them as personal playground toys

Bar soap and deodorant you sometimes used as toothpaste are home inside the bathroom

My purple toothbrush that would tempt you need not by my bedside be

The toilet paper’s out of hiding Three sit on the upright holder knowing they won’t be transported elsewhere

The trash I redirected when I caught you sifting sorting and recycling is rerouted to the right receptacle

Your car keys have resurfaced “Discovered” in the lies I told about their disappearance

My memories – bagged, emotions – canned and stashed upon the highest kitchen shelf when I became your cook, your driver private shopper, nurse, and janitor are now in hand and open ready for their placement in my head and heart

I finally emerge - free to be the weeping daughter I’m supposed to be

YOUTH SHORT 51STORY

1st

Alien Brain, Human Heart: My Life with Eddie Venus Excerpts from the Entirely True Memoir of Astrid Doyle

by Jessica Branham

25 June 1969 The rock stars of the 60s, 70s, and 80s are revered as celestial deities. We think of them as larger than life and otherworldly. Traditionally, these words take on a more metaphorical meaning. But in the case of Eddie Venus they are entirely literal. Contrary to his literal otherworldliness, I found Eddie Venus nearly unconscious in a dark, muddy alley way, right outside of a Looking Glass Records. I will never forget the early morning of the twenty-fifth. That night I had traveled from my flat in London to visit a friend in Brighton. Parking was hard to find, leaving me with no choice but to park a block down, in front of the record shop. The young Eddie was quite unaware of where he was and what had happened to him. He was also entirely nude. I thought he was just some wild bloke who had a few too many that night. It wasn’t until I walked past him and heard him call out for help that I turned around. There he was—his right arm in a puddle of mud and his left arm in a puddle of his own vomit. His hair was an unyielding gold. His skin was a white galaxy, glowing in some spots, dull in others. Initially, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me, but his eyes confirmed his complete otherworldliness. The left eye held a catlike pupil, set against a vivid green iris. The other was a regular human eye, but the color was that of a bright fire set on demolition. “Do you need me to call anyone?” I asked him. Eddie Venus sat up and rubbed his temple. “Call anyone?” He repeated, his accent unfamiliar to me. “Yeah. Wife, mum, dad, brother, sister? Someone to come help you out?” “Well, you’re here with me, aren’t you?” He seemed so confused by the fact that I was asking if he wanted someone else to help him. “I suppose I am. My car is just down the street if you’d like me to drive you home?” “Home? How could you possibly drive me home? Is your car a space shuttle?” His smile was entirely devilish. “Pardon?” “Oh, do walk me to your vehicle. I am quite cold. I’ll explain then. Mind if I have your sweater to cover myself?” Still entirely baffled, I helped him to his feet. Upon standing, he stumbled a bit, but caught himself and managed to stand upright. I took off my cardigan and he promptly tied it around his waist, covering his much exposed… nether regions. I had done everything I could to not look at it. “Would you mind if I held onto your arm? I’m not quite used to the gravity yet.” Eddie

Venus had a very proper way of speaking. He said “quite” a lot and almost always spoke in complete sentences. His accent was best described as “posh.” After assessing that he was too skinny and too weak to be a threat to me, we headed for the car. But there was a short detour on the way. In the window of Looking Glass Records was a multi-screen display of different live performances. You could see The Beatles, The Who, The Rolling Stones, and whoever else performing at any given time. The shop ran live performances and promotional videos 24/7. Eddie pulled me along with him, pressing his nose to the glass store front. “Oh… my.” His eyes searched, concentrating on each and every performer. “They are miraculous. Truly, spectacular—look at them!” “Yeah,” I deadpanned. “Are you not familiar with these people?” I asked, starting to really question his sanity. Everyone knew John, Paul, George, and Ringo and everyone else knew Keith Richards and Mick Jagger. “No, but I am amazed by them. Do tell me more about them in the car,” he said. At last, we were in the car. I assisted Eddie in stepping off the curb and into my car before walking around and hopping in the driver’s seat. “Now, tell me… who the bloody hell are you?” I will never forget what he looked like in that very moment. Eddie Venus turned to sit crisscrossed in the seat, leaning his back against the inside of the car door. He had that same smile and his hair fell down his chest. “I’m not entirely sure you’re ready for the answer.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I need to know so I can get you home and get you taken care of.” He laughed and said, “Well, I will start by telling you my name. Only, I can’t because your human ears simply won’t understand.” I blinked, pinching myself once. “But last time I vacationed here I took on the name Eddie Venus. I quite like the sound of it, so I’ll keep it.” “Eddie Venus,” I repeated. It was bizarre. Entirely bizarre. But if ever there was a rock star name… that was definitely it. By the 60s there weren’t many of those classic rock star names. The names then were just two first names put together– like George Harrison, Bob Dylan, or Jim Morrison. But Eddie Venus… that was it. That was the rock star name. “Yes. Anyways, I am from a planet far from here, in a galaxy far away from here. But don’t worry about where I’m from. The truly troubling matter is why am I here. You see, I come from a famous band. I was touring my galaxy and we had reached our vacation time, halfway through the tour. My bassist said, ‘Let’s vacation on Earth.’ But when we landed here, on the roof of Looking Glass Records, they stripped me nude and threw me out. As I fell, they took off, back to where we came from.”

I looked at him, dubiously. “What is it, mate?” Eddie gave me a puzzled look, so I followed up with, “LSD? Acid? Dexy?” “I haven’t a clue what any of those words mean.” “Drugs. What kind of drugs are you on? How long have you been in that alleyway? Must have taken you ages to come up with that story.” “Oh, please, you have to believe me. I have no way to get home, no family here. I am not on drugs of any sort. I don’t even know what type of drugs you have here on Earth. Forgive me for not asking, but what is your name?” “Astrid Doyle,” I said in a low voice. “Well, Astrid Doyle, I hate to be so assertive, but would you mind if I stayed with you at least for a little while, until I get this whole earthly situation figured out?” I wanted to say no because I still did not completely believe him. But if he were a threat to me, wouldn’t he have killed me by now? Deep down in my gut, I felt that good would come from letting Eddie Venus stay with me. And I was entirely right. I looked out the front window. The stars looked different that evening. Brighter, more vibrant—like a kaleidoscope, set against a cobalt blue night sky. I studied the stars and said, “Sure. You can sleep on the couch I suppose.”

Letter to My Mum from Early 1970 Dear Mum, How’s Liverpool? Everyone keeping well, I assume? You all have to meet Eddie soon. You sounded a wee bit concerned when I told you about him, so I want to clear things up. Words don’t do him justice. He truly is a kind, strangely intelligent individual. He can sew and design clothes like no other. It’s bloody marvelous! But I can understand your concern. Eddie is out at the clubs every other night, drinking and huffing and snorting. He clearly was not raised the same way I was. Way to go, Mum, you’ve made me a prude. Joking! I do not let him bring it into the house and he has complied with my rules. Currently, he’s working at the local Looking Glass Records, helping me out with the rent. Really, Mum, come join us for dinner one evening. You will absolutely love him. I am doing pretty well, job wise. Being a reporter pays, so can’t complain too much. I told you that I’m trying to move up as a columnist, right? Being a reporter is fine, but I write about what I thought of Led Zeppelin II, not what everyone else thought of it. I just need something bloody original to write about. Someone no one else is writing about. Wish me luck! Love you, Mum. I miss you and Dad dearly. Please visit soon! Love, Astrid 1971 Eddie caught on fast.

Two years after living with me, he played me a tune called “Aurora Sunrise.” Despite the fact that an alien band wrote it, the song was incredibly relatable. It was about feeling so washed up and alone, moments before a sunrise, yet still feeling young and invulnerable. Truly, it was gorgeous, and Eddie’s performance was like nothing I’d ever seen before. He stood in my living room, wearing nothing but a cape of silver tinsel and red leather pants. (He made the cape himself with left over Christmas decorations.) His voice wasn’t just a voice. It was electric and hypnotic—pure power. Eddie finished, sliding my guitar to his side. “What do you think?” His voice was hoarse and raspy, like he had been smoking for a long time. But quickly, realizing how he sounded, he cleared his throat. I knew an aspiring music producer, Cliff Burnet, who knew some small-time managers and executives at Couture Records. “Would you want to record that song?” “Two things: One, that is not much of an opinion. Two, I’ve already recorded the song.” “Record it on earth, you alien-dumb-ass,” I said. “Well that sounds like a wonderful idea, but I don’t appreciate the insult, Astrid.” Eddie lifted his chin and frowned. “Get over it, Eddie. You’ve been living off me for two years now. I’m allowed to insult you.” That was one of the few times I made him laugh. Typically, it was the other way around. Few knew the humor of Eddie. Many would come to view him as lurid and darkly mysterious. Yet, at home he was absolutely hysterical, once I recognized that he was, indeed, an alien. “But seriously, Eddie. I know a producer—we can work something out and get you into the recording studio. Do you have enough material for an album?” “Of course! I have three albums in my galaxy,” he said. “Perfect. You want to reproduce one of those here?” “Yeah,” he said, still not seeming to care all that much. And that’s how it happened. He was glorious in the studio. We brought in the best yet-to-be-discovered session musicians and they played keys, bass, rhythm guitar, and drums while Eddie performed vocals and lead guitar. The producer didn’t have to do much work because Eddie led the band with each track. It was clear during the sessions how inventive and revolutionary Eddie was. Cliff Burnet turned to me during the recording of the second to last track, “Fall from Grace,” and said, “I feel completely useless. I’ve done nothing this entire time. Your boy is a genius, Astrid.” Eddie Venus released Lazerbeams and Lovemachines on May 4th, 1971. I described the album then as a space rock opera and that description will never change. It has epic, soaring numbers equivalent to what we now know as Stadium Rock and soft rock numbers full of despair and heartache.

“Aurora Sunrise” was released as the first single. It cracked the top ten within the first two weeks of its release. Randall Keyes, the local rock station DJ, played the track three times in a row the second night of its release and then played it multiple times each day for an entire week. “Aurora Sunrise” was followed by “The Frozen Month” which was one of the more epic tracks on the album. It was experimental, but not so experimental that casual listeners couldn’t stick with it. While “Aurora Sunrise” only stayed at the number one spot for two weeks, “The Frozen Month” stayed there for a whopping eight weeks. Then we were touring all of Europe for the rest of ’71 and the first few months of ’72. It was a hot, glittery, and exhilarating beginning to Eddie Venus’s career.

1973

Eddie Venus’s second album, A Day Trip to Mars, was one of the fastest selling records in history. This was the album that made him a huge success in America. As soon as the American record shops reported selling out of A Day Trip to Mars, an American tour was scheduled for early ’74. After hearing the alien’s completely unmatched voice and his fully realized aesthetic, everyone was eager to get their hands on his sophomore attempt. He was even beginning to catch on in Japan. And by then, glam rock was on its way to the top. Eddie Venus wasn’t just a glam rocker. Eddie Venus was glam rock. It wasn’t just an aesthetic or a style of music. For Eddie Venus it was breathing, walking, talking, and every other facet of life. Once he wore nothing but bright gold underwear. He had rubbed Vaseline all over himself that evening and then laid down in a pile of gold glitter. At the next show, he dressed in red platform boots and American football padding covered in black sequins. It just grew more and more outrageous each night. The best part was that he saved loads of money by making his own clothes and purchasing them from thrift stores. The sequined football gear was entirely handmade. On top of the clothes, he wore outlandish makeup and his long, golden hair marked him as entirely ethereal. These aesthetics led to newspapers in the UK calling him a “poof” and various other slurs. Upon reading these, Eddie was quite confused. “What does this even mean? They aren’t even criticizing my music, are they?” “No, I’m afraid they aren’t,” I said glumly, heartbroken that I had to explain this to him. “They think you prefer being with men.” “Well, why should they care who I prefer to share my bed with? My music is their business, not my personal life. This is ludicrous, Astrid.” “It is. What if I wrote an article about what you just said?” “Oh, yes, that would be absolutely wonderful. Let those fools know what I think. I want what I just said on the front page.”

The front page of the monthly issue of Moon Rocks Magazine quoted Eddie: “My music is their business, not my personal life.” It was my first big paper. The editor of Moon Rocks moved me up as a columnist. My detailed accounts of Eddie’s life got me to where I am today. The year of ’73 was a wild one. Eddie’s groupies were at the hotels every night. Loud ones at that. I’d wake up to lines of cocaine on the coffee table, liquor bottles in between couch cushions, and fresh vomit in the toilet. I wouldn’t touch the drugs. Eddie could do whatever he wanted, but it was not for me. It did not go well the one time I tried cannabis. I had a horrible experience and my parents just about killed me for it. After every show, I’d drive Eddie to the hotels (and his groupies, by default), drink a glass with him, say goodnight, then retire to my room. The shows themselves were wonderful. Electricity filled the room when the band played. “I’m so nervous,” he would mutter before every concert. But then on stage, you never could tell. His voice took over the stadium, while his stage antics thrilled the crowd. He would step off the stage into the front row, allowing his audience to sing along with him. They reached for him. I would stand in the wings, handing him drinks in between song changes. One of the photographers from Moon Rocks would come to every other show, while worked on an article, detailing the tour. We stood together, knowing it was the best spot to watch Eddie from. The European tour only lasted from March to June, but it felt like an eternity. But that’s my life with Eddie anyway. An eternity. It felt like my life started when I found him in the alleyway. Looking back on it now, that time will always exist in my mind as a lifetime. As its own planet. Its own eternity. A beautiful, glittery, wild, crazy, exhilarating, and exhausting eternity. On June 6th, Eddie came home with me, without an entourage, without drugs, without alcohol. “No partying tonight?” I asked him as I drove the rental car to the last hotel of the tour. “Afraid not. I’m quite tired of these earthly drugs and drinks and the so called ‘groupies.’” “Really? Then, how are you going to entertain yourself tonight?” I asked, concentrating on the road. But in my periphery, I could see him doing the thing. The thing he did on the first night we met, where he sat entirely sideways in the seat. “Well, first I was thinking we could go out to dinner. Then we can come back and just talk about life and music. Y’know, like we used to. Before the tour.” “That sounds wonderful. Should I just drive to whatever restaurant then?” “No, no. Go back to our hotel, so you can freshen up. You’re all sweaty and dirty from running around backstage today.” “Well thanks, Eddie.” “Please,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But honestly, Astrid, I can’t take you anywhere dressed like that.” He stuck his tongue out at me. “You’re one to talk,” I replied, eyeing his current ensemble: an open chested, electric

blue catsuit, the back of which was embroidered with the moon and stars. His black boots were seven inches tall, with silver stars running down the sides. The moon and stars acted as his signature. This ensemble had appeared several times throughout the tour. Some evenings he even sported a crescent moon or a star painted on the right side of his face. “Don’t be jealous,” he said, jokingly. I laughed and turned my attention back to the road. Soon, we were at the hotel. Eddie is in the car and I’m back in the room, changing into one of the nicer outfits I brought. In no time, I was back in the driver’s seat. “Where are we going?” “No clue. Just drive into the city and see which place looks the nicest.” Luckily, we were back in London for the last show of the tour, so I knew my way around. I was just driving, trying to figure out where to go. “What about that French restaurant we used to joke about going into? You know, before we were making money.” “Le Prix Ridicule?” I asked, frowning. “Yes! Let’s go there.” “Are you sure?” “Of course! Now step it up, Astrid, I’m hungry.” He started cackling, turning back in his seat, and rolling down the window. Eddie reached out with his long, skinny fingers and cranked up the radio. The station was playing “Let’s Spend the Night Together.” Eddie’s favorite Earth Band was The Rolling Stones. He sang vociferously, alternating between singing out the window and singing at me. I sang the harmonies and laughed when his long hair whipped back into his face. The night came to its close. We went back to the hotel, just to get our money’s worth, even though our flat wasn’t too far away. We sat on the floor, sharing a bottle of Merlot. Eddie had changed into jeans and a white shirt. He hadn’t dressed like this since 1969, so I mean it when I say that it was a bizarre sight. “So, Eddie, how was your second tour?” “Better than the first one,” he said, taking a swig from the bottle. “How so?” “The audiences I played to each night were so much better. This time it felt like they were there because they wanted to see me. And I was there this time because I wanted to play to them. On the first tour, it was like we were both figuring out who we were. The audience didn’t know me. The only earthling I really knew was you, so I had to figure them out too. Everything just felt… right this time around.” “You’re totally right, Eddie. The crowd was just eating you up. I mean, Jesus, Eddie, they cherished you like a god among men. It was amazing, watching their faces light up. Especially when you played ‘Pitch Dark Heart.’”

“Yeah, we should have released that as a single. That song felt better live on this tour than it ever has. ‘Oh, pitch dark heart… I’ve had you from the start.’” He sang and strummed an invisible guitar. “You know, I wrote that song on earth. That’s the only song that isn’t a recreation from my band back home. Well… not home, but y’know.” “Not home?” I questioned. “Not anymore. This is my home now,” he declared. “Earth? You’re calling Earth your home now?” Eddie had potentially begun toeing the line between drunk and sober. “Not Earth, per se. But being here at this hotel with you, or back at your flat.” “Eddie, you can call it our flat now. You pay rent too. Though I suppose you’ll probably be moving out to a rock star’s mansion soon…” I took an enormous sip and looked at the ceiling. “Moving out? Astrid, have you met me?” “Yeah, I sure have, Eddie.” “Can you imagine me living on my own? I would probably be dead or naked in another alleyway if you hadn’t been touring with me the whole time. Astrid, I literally could not live on my own. Literally.” I laughed and passed the bottle back to him. I slumped down, my back flat against the ground and my feet against the bed. Eddie turned to sit on my side of the room and did the same thing. His hair tangled with mine and the bottle sat between us. “What was the name of your band? I can’t believe I’m just now asking.” “Candy Galaxies,” he answered, his cheeks turning apricot. “That’s awful.” “Innit though? I hate my galaxy more and more each second I’m on Earth. I mean, Candy Galaxies. What rubbish.” “Were you the lead singer?” “No, I was the drummer.” “Bloody hell! Are you serious?” “Completely. You see, where I come from, my voice is awful. There are much better singers than I.” The night continued like this. Just back and forth questions about his life, my life, music, food, drinks, and everything in between. We laid there on the floor until three in the morning. Our hotel window was open, showing the night sky. And the stars looked the same way then as they had the first night we meet. It was then that I realized, the stars looked better with Eddie around. Life in general was better with him around. That is my favorite memory of Eddie. If my life with Eddie is its own eternity, that night is a small eternity within the larger one. I remember it so clearly. Every second is vivid and alive. When I relive the moment, I’m really there, back in the early summer of ’73, with Eddie and a bottle of Merlot. It was a gorgeous, relaxed evening. Those gorgeous, relaxed evenings only

happened occasionally, usually at the end of tours. But they were always my favorite evenings. Always. Those nights are the ones I miss the most now.

1976

The SPACED! Eddie Venus World Tour had ended. He was at his largest and best yet. From Japan to California, thousands of people cried his name and sang with him every night. There was more booze. More drugs. More groupies. More parties. More of everything. Eddie bought a summer house for us in Barcelona, while we stayed in our flat in London for the rest of the year. Really and truly, the summer house was the party house. Those were the only parties I ever got dragged into. Driven by my career, I learned to enjoy Eddie’s parties for once. In ’73 and ’74, I kept away from his parties, away from the drugs and the alcohol. And while I never gave into the troublemakers, I did not hesitate to mingle with the guests. And I loved it. I talked to everyone who was anyone and wrote about our conversations the next day. Apparently, everyone in the UK wanted to know what Jimmy Page did when he wasn’t recording. Or how Diana Ross described her life with the young Jacksons. Anything and everything, they wanted to know. The Barcelona home would look like an abandoned warehouse the next day. That was typically when the parties ended. People would come over around seven o’clock and finally left by twelve in the afternoon the next day (or they were passed out in the bathtubs and guestrooms). Chairs and tables would be flipped over, mirrors would be broken, cocaine would settle around the house like dust, and there was always a new stain on the carpet. Eddie’s cleaning service hated us. They upped their prices after the second party. But that didn’t stop Eddie from inviting people over every Friday night. Every Friday night for the entirety of the summer of 1976. By September, it all ended. Eddie got bored of the drugs again, so he went back to the recording studio to record his fourth album. This was to be his first album comprised of only “Earth Songs.” Eddie’s goal was to combine the epic fantasy of earthly rock opera and the glittery melodrama of his music. “Queen Nebula” was released as a single, while Eddie recorded Alien Brain, Human Heart. “Queen Nebula” was rejected by critics but loved by fans. “Eddie’s Lost His Way!” or “Queen Nebula? Newest Eddie Venus Track Bad?” and other lazy headlines marked the October issues of music magazines. I wrote my own article, describing the mindset Eddie had while writing the track. My article applauded him for pushing himself as an artist. At this point, I was told to hold off on Eddie Venus centric articles. My editor-in-chief said, “Astrid, the whole world knows you live with Eddie. Articles like these are just starting to sound biased. Just dial it back some. Limit the number of opinion pieces you do on Eddie.”

“You got it, boss,” I said, only a little offended. But I understood and I didn’t write another opinion piece on Eddie until 1984. Luckily, all this bad press was buried with the overwhelmingly positive reception of Alien Brain, Human Heart. It was a double album, filled with strings, riveting bass guitar, heavy drums, slick guitar, and of course, Eddie’s one-of-a-kind voice. The lead single “She’s Got Me (Earthbound)” stayed at the number one spot for eleven weeks, making it his most successful song to date.

13, December 1977 I woke up at eight o’clock in the morning, like I always did. I got dressed for the day, made breakfast, like normal. But there was something wrong. I played an album every morning, while I got ready to go to work. On that morning, I played ‘71s Who’s Next. The moment I realized something was wrong is when track three began playing. Eddie was typically awake at eight o’clock. He always, always, always told me goodbye and good morning. I couldn’t recall a single day that he hadn’t met me at the door. I had grabbed my keys and was ready to head out. Eddie had not shown himself. My music typically woke him up. Track one, “Baba O’Riley,” was one of Eddie’s favorite songs. I never understood why, but he claimed it reminded him of the night we met. The fact that the opening synthesizer didn’t wake him up was absolutely jarring. My hand touched the doorknob, but I never twisted it. Instead, a horrible feeling rose in my stomach. A shadow lingered at the back of my mind. I crept back through the house, feeling nauseous. Eddie Venus was not in his bed. He was not in his room, at all. His bathroom door was open, revealing his absence. “Eddie!” I called, walking out of his room. No reply. “Eddie!” I half expected to hear the strumming of a guitar or a vocal line being discovered. But dead silence was the only noise to be heard. “Eddie?” Still, just cold, dead silence. “EDDIE?!” Wicked, cold, dead silence. That was what hurt the worse. After calling his name, the quiet felt like the world’s greatest insult. I went to work. It was raining that bloody awful London rain that day. The whole day was just nasty. I sat at my desk, pretending to write an editorial on The Graduate’s soundtrack and what “The Sound of Silence” meant for the last scene. But only one sentence was on the page at the end of the eight-hour workday.

It was time to go home. The rain was coming down even harder now. I was drenched by the time I got to my car. The radio was playing “The Long and Winding Road,” followed by, ironically, “The Sound of Silence.” The same bloody song I’d failed to write about that day. I walked into the apartment, absentmindedly whistling to the songs that played on the drive home. The lights were still on from where I had rushed out that morning. “Eddie?” I called again, my nerves rattling with paranoia. There was no response, again. I called Cliff Burnet and the other members of the recording studio. “Have you seen Eddie today?” “No” was their answer. Every. Single. Time. “Was he supposed to come in today?” “Yes. Do you know where he is?” was the general response. “No idea.” I called everyone. His manager, our landlord, the house phone at the Barcelona house. The night was slow and long. I hardly slept, only getting in about an hour or two of true sleep. I thought about going out, acting as a one-woman search party. But I refrained, my heart still filled with hope that everything would be alright. When it came to be eight o’clock the next morning, I called the police. “Hello?... Yes, I’d like to report a missing person… Eddie Venus… Yes, that would be the one… Thank you. What should I do?... Okay… Alright… Thank you for your time.”

Epilogue Eddie Venus was never found. No traces of golden hair, no flecks of glitter, no platform boots. Everything that marked Eddie Venus as Eddie Venus was gone. Everyone knew what to look for, but nothing was ever uncovered. What makes it so depressing is that he left us with so much promise. This is when a musician’s death is the most tragic. Kurt Cobain, Freddie Mercury, and Janis Joplin all left us prematurely. Their careers could have continued to influence and change the world’s sound. Eddie Venus is no exception. Alien Brain, Human Heart is his greatest work. He left before he could top it. That’s what really breaks my heart. Everyone wanted the next album, the next tour. I wanted to watch him make his next album, to go on tour with him. We all just wanted more time with Eddie. I needed more time with Eddie. Now, I write this memoir, fifty years into the future, still unsure of what happened to my greatest friend. But let me tell you what I think happened. Here’s what I tell myself so I can sleep at night: Eddie Venus went back to his galaxy. Whether it was willingly or unwillingly, I do not know. I don’t know if Candy Galaxies decided he was worth something or not. He’s there, waiting in the

sky. He came, he lived, he blew our minds. And yes, readers and fans of Eddie, I am telling you that Eddie Venus was, indeed, an alien. An alien who knew how to enjoy life. An alien who knew how to make genuine friendships. An alien who knew how to connect to his earthly audience. An alien who changed my life. Question it if you will. Call me a liar, drag my name, and write hateful editorials, scrutinizing me for writing this “garbage.” But I will take this to my grave. I know the truth and I tell you nothing but the truth. He never told the world. The only person he ever told was me. I wrestled during these fifty years, wondering if I should tell you or if Eddie would prefer to keep it a secret. After much debating, I decided that he would have wanted you all to know. Eddie was a mystery of a man, but I think late in his career, or at the end of it, he would have wanted to make a little more sense to the world. He wouldn’t have wanted everyone to know the specifics—which planet he came from or what his true name was. I wrote this memoir to help myself say goodbye to Eddie. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: my life began on the early morning of the twenty-fifth of June. It was like I left the boring parts of life behind and learned to live again. I never lived to the same extents that he did, but he did teach me to enjoy the opportunities I was given. He did a lot for me and we did a lot together. I miss the shows. I miss his crazy clothes. I miss his signature smile and his proper speech. I miss the nights spent just talking to each other. I miss how the stars looked when he was alive. But he’s gone. And the stars look very different today.