Zed Is Not Zero

It didn’t seem possible, that I could become a nobody at such an early age — so the old cliché is correct: Dreams can sometimes come true.

“Here we go,” I heard Nate grumble, under his breath, as three late-teens girls, smiling and filled with nervous energy, approached us as we walked in bright sunshine. One was carrying Nate’s image in her hand, a poster boasting of his face and his name, and advertising his band’s upcoming live show. They were zeds, little doubt about that, and he was most decidedly not zed himself, and I couldn’t help but feel sad for my friend, who was no longer a nobody.

My first exposure to the dreaded condition was when I was attending my high school. I was friendly with Nate, by way of knowing his sister Becka, before I knew he was becoming a musical achiever. His band, you’ve heard of them by now, had played the right venues; gotten chummy, with the local alternative-news writers, the typical thing for rising musicians, I guess. Nate played bass, cowrote most of their original songs, and sang backing vocals, but he was the ‘face’ of the band, so he got photographed and swooned over — a lot — by fans of his group. This was bad enough, but then his group appeared on local TV, and I can recall Becka expressing her fear that he would get noticed by a large audience, which of course, he did.

Things went from bad to worse for him, from that point on. The group played a local TV show, which produced a couple of video clips that went viral with a vengeance. Before we even realized what had happened, the group was dealt a severe blow: a producer of considerable influence offered to put out their debut album, and get them seen on national TV. Good-bye to his cherished zedhood.

Becka and I had a big job, cheering Nate after that. We took to sending out for pizza and Chinese takeout, because we couldn’t go to restaurants after that; at least, we couldn’t do it without someone recognizing Nate, wanting to get him to sign autographs or pictures. His email inbox was flooded, with requests for interviews; almost every day, some joker claimed to be Nate’s long-lost cousin, or uncle, or friend from kindergarten, whatever.

I can’t pretend it was always easy, to boost his spirits, because… he sometimes got jealous, or maybe envious is a better word, of our lack of similar renown — and I have to say, I can appreciate how painful it must have been for him, to be in the company of successful zeds, such as ourselves. Once I thought someone was staring at me, instead of Nate, when we were at the fitness center, but the fanatical admirer didn’t even blink when I pointed to myself. A pleasant shock passed through me as I realized I had escaped her attention.

I remember how bizarre the whole idea of becoming famous first seemed, and that was before I learned that for a few hundred years, people actually sought to achieve fame. Why would you want to do that? Your goal in life, if you are healthy, is not to be stricken with a severe illness — that’s one way you know you are healthy! My teacher informed us that the noun ‘fame’ dated back, at least, to the thirteenth century; it became a verb, sometime later. I suppose religion advocated Zedhood for most people, because who was more famous than the Messiah, the Buddha, Allah, Zeus and the rest, right? We regular folks should try to maintain our regularity…

^^^^

Not sure when it made sense to me to embrace anonymity. Might have been in high school, or maybe it was secondary school — you don’t know have to know which it was; that would give away a useful fact about me — but, like so many other kids, I sensed that a larger world awaited me, one in which I would not have to concern myself with my public image or my brand or whatever. I read about the lives of those who achieved notoriety and public recognition on a grand scale, about how their very names were uttered almost like they were black-magic spells, how it shut doors for them that would have remained open to those who lacked even a smidgen of fame.

I knew I wanted nothing to do with any of that. I will only admit to answer to the initial Z, as this is already more of my identity than I wish to share with you. It is not the first letter of my first, middle or last name; there’s no danger of divulging my identity, if I were to use this as my handle, for the purposes of this narrative. Of course I dreamed of the life I wanted to have; no kid I ever met failed to do that. I would achieve excellence in my chosen field, make a decent living, and I would not even have to answer to a crowd for doing it — same as anyone, I suppose, I wanted to have my cake and eat it all by myself.

I got into my mom’s closet, last time I was visiting my parents (yes, fine — you got me; my parents are still alive and still living with each other, but you don’t get their names) and she had posters of the people she had admired, from her own adolescence, and magazines mentioning these folks. It amazes me that as she reached her adulthood, the thinking began to change back to something a bit more sensible. It was enough to do big things without being noticed, even a bit worshipped, for the doing of them.

My own room had posters of athletics and music and science. Notice: I did not say ‘athletes and musicians and scientists’. These posters had human outlines, the silhouettes of persons — but their identifying features were not displayed. I preferred my heroes to be folks whom I didn’t recognize — not actual zeds, but almost as good.

Zedhood owed its name to the English, a people who had suffered for their personality-worship through the years. They actually bestowed royal status on people and put their pictures on their money! I liked how they decided that their word for zero was also their new word for un-hero. Someday, we will all live in Zedham, went the popular slogan; this did not mean a real English village, more like an ideal version of the whole world, in which we would only know, and be known, by people whom we knew, and who knew us.

Nothing at all wrong with being recognized by those who should recognize us!

Nobody knew, or would admit to knowing, who had coined this term — which was, of course, only appropriate. I know my folks thought it was a radical new thing, when they were growing up, but by the time that my friends and I made it to voting age ourselves, we welcomed the notion with open arms. At least, I think we did. Nate seemed only too pleased to reap the attention he got when he performed, until it started to come at him, everywhere we went. In perfect seriousness, he once pleaded with me not to abandon him, once his fame was locked-in, and I told him, also being completely serious, that being a zed was a privilege that shouldn’t go to one’s head. We had a responsibility, to be kind to people who had been illluminated, not to toss noted persons aside; I believe every word of that, by the way.

^^^^

It got so bad that Becka and I had to postpone a quiet dinner, just the two of us without Nate (for a change), to offer our creativity to him, and his bandmates, in trying to solve their impending disaster. “How did people who were famous get over it before us?” Nate wondered, sounding like a mopey child — not that I could blame him for that!

“Usually, they either got too old, after a long time, to be interesting to the fans, or they did something wrong,” Becka offered. “Obviously we can’t wait for that first option. As for the second… are you game for, I don’t know, maybe, illegal stuff that would offend the public?”

I shook my head at that one. “Doesn’t work,” I had to tell her. “You can be sort-of famous for being unpopular, too. I think some criminals even got fans when they were caught and locked up. Think the ones who didn’t suffer it too badly were executed, which to me sounds like a pretty drastic step to take, Nathan.”

“Fate worse than death,” Nate said. “That’s what you told me, when we talked about what could happen to the band. We could get really popular and have a terrible time. Didn’t famous people used to get attacked by zeds in the past, or even… hurt by them?”

Becka nodded solemnly. “More reason to turn the volume down on this thing, before it gets out of our control.” She aimed a thumb at me and sighed, “This one’s got a point, though: if you try to sabotage yourselves, that might drive up the attention, even if it stops you from performing again. Imagine, being a post-zed without even doing anything to earn it, just zeds rejecting you, in a very public way. Definitely not worth it, little brother.”

So, yes: it was a rough patch, for several months, but we hung in there, with Nate and his friends, imagining the possible outcomes for their band and, as usual, hoping for the worst, and we were rewarded. His music did not receive the rabid acclaim we had feared it would generate — for it is that good. A tour across the country did not lead to movie stardom or great wealth; in fact, they returned home all but destitute, bereft of financial rewards. A few weeks went by, and we dreaded the siren call of the open road that would lure Nate out of his obscurity, but it did not come.

I think we knew that he had turned a corner when we went out to a nice restaurant and the hostess did not so much as bat an eyelash at him. Nate asked her, with his painful sincerity, “Do you know who I am?” She then blinked at him, as if the very question was in a foreign language, and looked down at her schedule of tables to be served.

He broke into a smile so bright, it almost hurt my eyes to see it. “I can do it,” Nate whispered, almost in awe. “I can achieve real zedhood. I can be nobody."

Becka hugged him, and I punched him playfully on his upper bicep, and said, “Oh, pal, you’ll always be a nobody to us.”

© Eric Wolf 2022.