Day of the Dead, Forgeylicious (work in progress)

Today is the Day of the Dead, a day in which, according to Mexican tradition, we honor the memory of those family members and friends who died sometime during the last year. It is not a day of sadness nor of mourning. Rather, today is a day of remembrance and acceptance. A day for me to remember, my friend, Matthew Forgey Wells. A day to remember a lifetime of jokes with poorly, poorly timed punch lines. A day to remember a litany of cock-eyed philanthropic ideas that always seemed to start with the words, “Okay, first we win the lottery...Second....” A day to accept that Matt won’t ever dance on his thirty-third birthday. Today is a day to accept that six years of dance was enough.
Six years ago Matt’s body began to shake. Maybe it was more of a quake or a shimmy...whatever it was the doctors called it a seizure and gave it a French name, grand mal. And thus the dance began...
We, his friends, were there when the dance became violent, and we were there for the Fandango, the Waltz and even that bizarre period forever known to those of us who bore witness as the “summer of the fox-trot”. But I write these words not because of any of those dances. I stand here tonight to remember the day Matthew Forgey Wells danced for the Wu Tang Clan. Are you ready?
It’s not as though Matt had an actual list of things he wanted to do before he died, it’s more that he simply did all the things he wanted to do. He parachuted with his grandmother on her eightieth birthday. He joined Toastmasters to overcome his fear of public speaking while simultaneously dealing with his fear of death. Forgey felt as though the two were somehow connected. That, if he could conquer one he could conquer the other.
And, alas, Matt wanted to dance in a music video. This brings us to the Wu Tang Clan.
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Matt worked for The Insurance Journal, a magazine devoted to the rock ‘n roll world of insurance. While on the job, Matt dressed like someone you might expect who works for The Insurance Journal: a uniform of Khaki pants and blue Oxfords--his Saddle shoes were his signature flare. Short on time, he wore his “uniform” to the audition. The others in the room wore black leather jackets, black leather belts, leather pants and shoes. Needless to say, not a Hindu in sight.
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“Can you dance?”, that was the question. The question skeptically asked of Matt by a talent coordinator who looked remarkably like Debbie Allen of Fame fame, but who, after closer examination, was in fact not Debbie Allen of Fame fame.
She repeated the question. And then, using a technique frowned upon by his Toastmaster brethren and while flashing his trademark smile, Matt answered her question with a rhetorical question, “Can I dance?”
And he did. He danced his ass off.
Now, I wasn’t there but I’ve seen Matt dance. And I’ve seen Matt recreate that audition dance for us--many, many times (both in real life and in my memories and once even in my dreams, but that’s something for my therapist to hear about, not you people).
But back to the dance....
Imagine, if you will, a little bit of Sammy Davis with a dash Gregory Hines and just a hint, a distant echo of Elroy Hirsch, aka “Crazylegs”. With all the energy of the San Andreas and grace of Cary Grant, Matt danced. He danced for the Wu Tang Clan. He danced with the spirit. He danced until the Debbie Allen doppelganger asked him to stop. Matt danced as though his life depended upon it.
(pause)
Matt never heard back from the Wu Tang Clan...their loss. And I don’t suppose their approval was the point. It was about the doing; it was about the living; it was about THE DANCE. So when Nicole asked me if I could read something tonight, even though the very thought of doing so sent seismic quakes of fear through my body, the only words that seemed appropriate were, “Can I read?” (With all apologies to the Toastmasters)