I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings a song of childhood.
It's a lovely little tune that always filled with my heart with the hope of things to come.
Some songs are like that.
His is a sad rendition, though.
Still very beautiful, but quieter;
A lullaby for the lost.
It's a quiet evening in Seattle.
Walking along a path to a favorite dinner destination.
Sidewalk is discolored, grass growing through the cracks like the hands of lost souls freed from the Underworld, desperately trying to reach the surface again.
The street lights are slowly coming to life, following my footsteps.
They will eventually find me. They always do.
Too bad. I was enjoying the half-light.
The first time I heard the statue's song, I was a teen.
Long hair. Sometimes a beard, sometimes not.
Had a girlfriend that I loved, lusted after, and hated all at once.
Our time was ending, and we didn't know it yet.
Then I met her.
Quickly became friends. Close friends.
Laughter and and long chats until the late hours.
She would sometimes fall asleep to the sound of me playing guitar.
Smell of sweet incense in the air, wisps of scented smoke floating around us.
She was lovely when she slept.
Blonde hair falling across closed eyes.
Those glittering blue eyes.
A small smile at the corners of her mouth as she softly breathed.
I would watch her drift off, and just keep playing and playing until she finally awoke.
This is where I learned to improvise.
Some of my favorite memories.
I've reached my destination, sitting at the counter with my back to everyone.
The window in front of me displays the emerging night life right outside.
Cars pass, lovers walk by.
Warm but overcast evening.
The faded glass reflects short, thinning hair. Deep lines on my face, dark circles under the eyes.
The stubble of a few unshaven days.
Much different than the long-haired youth that fell madly in love with an angel.
She always supported my gift.
Urged me to be a solo performer. I had always been in bands. Her insistence didn't make sense to me at
the time.
She spoke of the beauty of my music and of my heart, and how they reflected each other.
Her views on life were refreshing, new, sacred to me.
Always loving. Always caring.
Had the most beautiful heart, and she terrified me.
I wasn't ready for the intensity of my feelings.
She was too perfect,
and I wasn't.
The waitress probably thinks I'm crazy, sitting there,
drinking my Pepsi and eating dinner, and smiling to myself.
I wonder sometimes if I might be going insane.
Things had happened.
Life happened.
It always does.
I ran from her, made some poor decisions.
I came back. Was too late.
She had undergone defining moments of self-discovery, and was different.
It wasn't always about me. Took me a long time to realize that.
When I accepted our season had passed I hid away, and then shut down inside for a long time.
I wasn't ready for any of this.
Walking back from the cafe.
Trees on both sides, branches hanging lazily overhead, wrapping protectively around my path.
Makes me feel safe..
Walk by a faded wall now consisting more of ivy than of concrete.
Used to see contrast in these things, now I see the blending of two separate entities into a beautiful whole.
A year had passed.
I had just performed as a solo artist for the first time at a little cafe.
Someone emerges from the crowd, approaching me.
It was her.
Gives me a hug, hands me a hand-written note, walks out.
A message and a phone number in her lovely script.
The note ends with "I love you".
I still loved her. And it hurt like hell.
Called a few times. It was awkward. Lost contact again.
Another year or two passed.
Getting ready for another performance at a different venue.
I saw her there in the parking lot. My heart stopped.
More hugs.
She promised to come back later to see me perform.
I never saw her again.
I have a little statue that often stares at me.
Sometimes he sings.
Tonight it is a sad song that reminds me of someone I once knew.
No comments:
Post a Comment