Otis Gray - Last Gasp at Carnegie Hall

 

 

In the summer of 2018, after seven years of an incredible relationship, my girlfriend and I were at a crossroads with our differences. A big one of those was kids. Grace never wanted kids. I always wanted kids, so that was a big one. But it wasn't the only one. We were also living in Brooklyn, where she wanted to live forever and I was reluctant to move to in the first place. She valued things like financial stability, and being able to go out and do nice, classy New York things. And I was a sculptor turned radio producer, so. 

 

I wanted to go one day without talking about the apocalypse, like that was her thing, and it was also a reason for her not having kids. I logged into her Amazon account by accident one day, and there was a flare gun, a map of the Hudson River and a raft, which led to a really heated discussion about not if the rapture was nigh, but where in our Brooklyn apartment she thought were going to put a goddamn raft. [audience laughter]

 

[chuckles] We loved each other very, very much, but it just felt like we wanted things that we couldn't have together. No matter how much we tried to change for each other, it just felt like we were fighting the inevitable and we were growing apart. But I'm very stubborn, and I could not see myself not growing old with this person. Really, I wanted to show her that I could maybe be the person that sometimes she wished I was. I thought that would be the brave thing to do. 

 

So, as a grand gesture on her birthday, with very limited funds, I decided I was going to take Grace to Carnegie Hall, the classic New York, Humphrey Bogart, Grace Kelly kind of night. I got the suit. I got the haircut. I found a concerto on her birthday, [unintelligible 00:03:03] like Italian words and the word chorus. I'm like, “That. That's what I want.” And I called her, and I'm like, “Hey, wear a red dress and meet me at the south entrance of Central Park.” Falling in love with myself at this point. [audience laughter]

 

So, the night comes, and we meet and we look amazing. She takes my arm and I escort her up the stairs, the majestic Carnegie Hall to our box seats with the red velvet chairs and the booming architecture. Looking at a stage that Pavarotti sang on and I'm just crushing this so hard, like, just, God. As soon as we sit down, something is off. 

 

First, there's a whole extended family in the balcony in front of us, and they turn and ask, “Oh, who are you here to see?” which is a weird thing to ask someone at a concert you are also at. [audience laughter] 

 

But I'm like, “Okay, no, no, no, it's cool.” Then the house lights go down and the stage is lit. This little girl walks on the stage, followed by another, and another, and another, till there's 150 children on this stage. We both know what's happening and we don't want to say it. They immediately break out into the most uncoordinated, nightmarish rendition of Scarborough Fair. [audience laughter]

 

And without looking, and I can just hear Grace's jaw drop in utter amazement and disappointment like, “This was so on brand for me to do, and oh.” But then, “This is all wrong. There's this Carnegie Hall, why are these kids so sad? Why is the music so depressing? Why does that guy have the flip up sunglasses?” Some people in the crowd are crying and they're taking videos on their phone. I realize [gasps] I have brought my struggling relationship to an elementary school chorus recital. [audience laughter]

 

Okay. But then the song, the song ends and then this little girl walks up the mic. She's got sequins. She's like, “I'm Sandra.” I'm like, “Okay, Sandra, we got to turn this thing around. I got a lot riding on this show.” She's like, “This is an original song about the poison water in Flint, Michigan.” [audience laughter]

 

Like, if Grace's reasons for not having kids were turned into a musical, this was it. And then, the Flint song ends. This dad at the other end of theater just delivers the most perfectly executed snore that reverberates- [audience laughter] -through the silence of Carnegie Hall. And for the first time, we look at each other dead in the eyes with just tears running in our face, trying not to break out of the most offensive laughter. And then, that look was everything we had to say like, “This is the worst thing ever.” “This is the best thing ever.” “You're a total train wreck. You're a crazy person. I love you.” “I love you too, so much.” “Are we breaking up?” “Yeah, I think so.” 

 

Finally, intermission hits, and we sprint through the lobby and collapse outside in front of a bunch of parents on a smoke break and laugh at their children harder than we have laughed at anything in our entire lives. And two weeks later, we decided to break up, which was the hardest, saddest thing either of us had ever done besides sitting through half of that concert. [audience laughter]

 

What I know now is the brave thing to do is not to always just relentlessly try to make something the way that you thought it would be, but to know when to walk away from something, especially if you love it, and no matter how much it hurts. 

 

Grace and I are still really good friends. I joke. That's how we're going to grow old together. And she's like, “Probably not.” [audience laughter] Statistically with food shortages, it's just– [audience laughter] But she promised, that when the world does come to an end, I have a spot in her raft as long as I promise to never, ever take her back to Carnegie Hall. Thank you. 

 

[cheers and applause]