B. J. Horton

Chapter Ten - "Showtime in Philly"
from GEMINI RISING

I shared Zach's excitement about being in the big city. Philadelphia is certainly no New York or L. A., but no one would ever confuse it with Duncannon, either. The site that Chuck had lined up was called The Jalapeno Room. Since it was not decorated in a Latin motif, I assumed that it was the entertainment that was featured there that was expected to be hot.

"Hot" was precisely what the Catalyst! Was at that time. The Quaker City had long been renowned for its contributions to the musical landscape. Philly was just waiting for the next big thing to be born in the Cradle of Liberty. Catalyst! Planned to be true to their name and be catalysts to spontaneous musical combustion.

The cats were mellifluous Molotov cocktails, waiting to explode on the scene like a match held to gasoline-soaked rags. They had been trapped in a larval stage until then, maturing in the womb of the Susquehanna. They had developed a distinctive aural quality and had grown well beyond the station of a small-town saloon act.

In fact, one of the Munro-penned songs, "Local Bar Band" was a shamelessly nostalgic paean to those days of playing for beer in the neighborhood tap rooms of their native Pennsylvania countryside roots. Zach, more than the others had used this evolutionary period to refine his songwriting energies to become a compelling artist, expressing the ever-changing pulse of his generation. Such is the product of the profound partnership to which I've alluded. Zach was a virtuoso who allowed his fingers to paint free-form masterpieces within the six-string palette. I, on the other hand, was an unabashed wordsmith and poet, articulating the anguish and celebration of what it was to be young in our time. All of the recognition of Zach's subconscious consolidation with me went to Zach, of course. That was okay with me.

I knew that Zach's "solo" efforts were in reality results of our confederation. I could take little pleasure in knowing that Zach would be nothing without me, because the flip side of that record was that I was nothing without him. Where at one time, I fought my fate as a nonentity, I contented myself as a silent partner with a difference. I realized at last that Zachary's accomplishments were my own. A vicarious life was better than no life at all.

I grew to see the term "vicarious" in an entirely new light. I could enjoy the interdependence of our unique relationship. We would prove that two minds united were better than one. I was certain Zach had been given this power through me. I could see him from a virtually objective viewpoint. The paradox was that although Zach had no memory of me, I was a mirror image of him. Was I a living oxymoron or was he? It didn't matter. That was the reality.

B. J. Horton is a 61 year-old writer whose life was profoundly changed by the onset of multiple life in 1988. After his diagnosis, he returned to school, graduating from Rutgers University in 1994. Widowed in 2008, he now resides at Inglis House in Philadelphia..