The stories cascade down, shaken loose from part of my brain.
The girl with the scratches from her cat who wore bandaids all over her face.
The impossibly beautiful girl whose smile lit up the back room of the restaurant at the party.
The girl with hair so long it could wrap around her body three or four times.
The summer I was working in the library and noticed that there were four women who worked there who seemed normally sized in most ways except for their insanely large posteriors.
The pre-internet spread of misinformation.
The post-internet spread of misinformation.
The misunderstandings.
The misappropriations of affection.
The way the rain prods the part of my mind that leads to dreaming.
The memory of certainty that is so much stronger than the certainty of memory.
And it coalesces. With a sudden realization.
That maybe the complexity of the girl you loved so long ago was all in your mind.
Maybe she wasn't that hard to figure out. You were just looking at the wrong thing.
And maybe, just maybe, she was mumbling gibberish, not singing in French.
And then, from the edges of long ago, from a corner of my consciousness comes this. This long-ago song I'd play immediately. If only I could play guitar:
The pictures are still on the wall. Taped. No one seemed to mind.
The postcards are all in a row. Also taped. Above the photos.
The window is open and the cleaning crew has come through.
Everything will be boxed and someone will come pick it up.
The word will spread out from this spot.
And the awareness floats upward. Freely.
The nurses talked for a few days. Then they moved on.
There were other people, other problems.
One of them wondered about the strange visitors, the phone calls, the people with accents.
But she didn't say anything. She just wondered.
Some immediately forgot how cranky he could be, how difficult. They only wanted to remember the positive. Which is nice, but it's not real life. In trying to be nice, they unwittingly diminish the humanity.
Meanwhile, doctors and administrators talked about the family and speculated why so few of them had come.
Many questions remained. Questions that would never be answered.
Still the palm trees waved in the gentle ocean breeze.
They know the answers -- but more than that, they know when it's time.
Or, Why I Hate Rochester (originally published January 13, 2010)
She wanted me to come visit her.
So I did. I plopped down two weeks of pay for the plane ticket and went to see her over the three-day weekend.
In the days before cell phones and Skype, we talked twice a week that summer. We wrote actual letters. She proclaimed her love over and over. Said she couldn't live without me.
And I had a bad feeling, but I went. (Link for Gmail subscribers.)
It was a horrible weekend.
She ignored me, was distant, and pretended not to know what I was talking about when I asked her what was wrong.
I kept thinking I shouldn't have come. I should have listened to the bad feeling.
I told her I was going to go back to the airport. Fly standby and go home.
Suddenly, she was all weepy. Crying and kissing me and telling me she couldn't live without me. Begging me to be patient with her.
And things almost seemed normal until I left.
Then she wasn't around when I called. She wouldn't call me back.
And I was stuck in another state doing a stupid summer job I hated, earning next to no money and living in a crappy sublet apartment with almost no furniture, a great stereo, and two crates full of records.
I met a girl I liked. She flirted with me shamelessly, but I didn't do anything. I had a girlfriend. Right?
And so I waited. I wrote her letters. I tried to call. I tried not to pay attention to the sinking feeling.
Two weeks later she finally called me back. When I asked what was wrong, she said "I thought we broke up two weeks ago."
As my world collapsed beneath my feet, I thought exactly three things:
1) It would have been nice for you to f*cking tell me.
2) Tom Petty was wrong. The Waiting wasn't the hardest part. Not by a long shot.
A reader emailed me to ask about my favorite opening line for a song.
It depends on my mood. Sometimes I love lines like "I was born in a crossfire hurricane." Sometimes I'm in the mood for Robyn Hitchcock's intricate wordplay.
But, right now, off the top of my head, here's my list of Top 11 Opening Lines I love. (Tomorrow the list would be different and I might even be able to limit it to 10.)
11. The Nerves -- "Hanging on the Telephone" I'm in the phone booth, it's one o'clock uh huh. Yes, kids, before cell phones there used to be phone booths. Just ask Superman. (And, yeah, this song existed even before Blondie covered it.) It's the "uh huh" that gets me.
10. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers "I Need to Know" Well the talk on the street says you might go solo. Slick Hollywood posturing and powerful music covering up a broken heart.
9. Badfinger "Day After Day" I remember finding out about you... My second-favorite Badfinger song. (And a pretty great George Harrison slide-guitar solo, too.)
8. XTC "Dear Madam Barnum" I put on a fake smile and start the evening show... Best romance-as-circus-act metaphor ever.
7. Immaculate Machine "Broken Ship" We are sailing on a broken ship and only one of us can survive. Stripped-down instrumentation, simple sparse lyrics, and an emotional vocal that tries desperately to be hopeful despite the pervading sense of doom. (Plus, how can you resist a song that includes the line "cello, play us off"?)
6. Warren Zevon "Werewolves of London" I saw a werewolf with a Chinese menu in his hand walking down the streets of Soho in the rain. I know I've had days like that... and I'm pretty sure you have, too.
5. Paul Simon "Kodachrome" When I think back on all the crap I learned in High School it's a wonder I can think at all...
4. Joe Jackson "Is She Really Going Out with Him?" Pretty women out walking with gorillas down my street... Just. Freaking. Perfect. There isn't a guy alive who hasn't had this thought.
3. Graham Parker "You Can't Be Too Strong" Did they tear it out with talons of steel? Haunting song that explores a controversial issue from a point of view that's usually ignored.
2. John Lennon "God" God is a concept by which we measure our pain... The "dream is over" song... still beautiful and visceral 40 years later.
1. Billy Bragg "Life with the Lions" I hate the asshole I become everytime I'm with you. It's funny because it's true. And I know we've all been there.
So... there's my list. Tell me the ones you think I should've included.
So I did. I plopped down two weeks of pay for the plane ticket and went to see her over the three-day weekend.
In the days before cell phones and Skype, we talked twice a week that summer. We wrote actual letters. She proclaimed her love over and over. Said she couldn't live without me.
And I had a bad feeling, but I went. (Link for Gmail subscribers.)
It was a horrible weekend.
She ignored me, was distant, and pretended not to know what I was talking about when I asked her what was wrong.
I kept thinking I shouldn't have come. I should have listened to the bad feeling.
I told her I was going to go back to the airport. Fly standby and go home.
Suddenly, she was all weepy. Crying and kissing me and telling me she couldn't live without me. Begging me to be patient with her.
And things almost seemed normal until I left.
Then she wasn't around when I called. She wouldn't call me back.
And I was stuck in another state doing a stupid summer job I hated, earning next to no money and living in a crappy sublet apartment with almost no furniture, a great stereo, and two crates full of records.
I met a girl I liked. She flirted with me shamelessly, but I didn't do anything. I had a girlfriend. Right?
And so I waited. I wrote her letters. I tried to call. I tried not to pay attention to the sinking feeling.
Two weeks later she finally called me back. When I asked what was wrong, she said "I thought we broke up two weeks ago."
As my world collapsed beneath my feet, I thought exactly three things:
1) It would have been nice for you to f*cking tell me.
2) Tom Petty was wrong. The Waiting wasn't the hardest part. Not by a long shot.
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