The Story Within the Notes

Track: “Tree by the River”- Iron and Wine.

Hey, I know we’ve lost touch for a little while there. I’m sorry I haven’t called; I’ve come to despise every name that comes across my caller ID screen. Its not because I don’t like them, I just seem to see the same 10 names flash across with the same baggage to hassle me about. It wouldn’t hurt to see your name come up on my screen every once in a while now, just saying.

I would have written to you too, except things have been shifting around since the last letter I wrote to you, three months ago. I’ve been traveling a lot, since then. The food is terrible, and the bathrooms are worse, but its not all that bad. I’m still basically chasing paychecks and gigs from state-to-state, but I still like it better than what your dad would call a “normal job.” People have started to recognize me a little more now, but I only get to shave the night before a show, so the ever-growing five ‘o-clock makes most of them think they’re just seeing things. On top of my newfound “mastery of disguise,” I’ve mastered the art of rest-stop napkin lyricism. I never really noticed how inspiring a view looking out of a windshield could look after a while. I just wish I had you to share this view with.

You should come out to see m Mary, I really don’t know how else to say it; I miss you. I cant sleep, Mary. I must have written songs about you on more than a dozen napkins in at least ten rest stops across the midwest. I left them behind because I never ended up thinking they were ever really worthy of you by the time I was done writing them.

I’m so afraid, Mary. I’m so afraid of what’s happened to us. Before this deal and the tour came along, we were near inseparable. Now that I’ve been pouring out every pore of my body, soul and consciousness in order to get my name printed across the stars, there’s so much that’s come between us; the state boundaries and the venues, the agents and execs, the publicists and the paparazzi, all of them. None of that matters and I’d drop them all in a heartbeat, if you told me to.

You’re the June Cash to my Johnny, I swear it. Without, you my soul only seems to wander. I’m only lucky by chance, that wandering has somehow become a part of my job description, since this tour started. I’m only lucky that I had a girl like you who didn’t stop me from chasing after what I wanted. I won’t lie, the bright stage lights and the fans have been a comfort, but you; you’re my home. If you tell me to turn around and come back home, I’ll set a course straight for that humble, yellow house with the tree by the river, and I’ll see you there in a few days. I just hope I’m not too late. I just hope you kept reading this letter long enough so see how badly I need you. I know I’ve been selfish, Mary. I just hope you still care.

Track: “New Soul”- Yael Naim

As I got back from the mail room this morning, I saw her fumbling with the keys to the dorm across from me. It didn’t look like the red polka-dot umbrella in her hand had done her any favors in the nor’easter outside, as her black curly locks were dripping rainwater. ”She’s a little odd,” I thought until she turned around and flashed a slight smile at me.

After helping her get her soggy suitcases up from the cab downstairs, she told me name was Jenny Bateman, a freshman transferring in from I-forget-where, Utah. And I was right, she was a little quirky… in a kind of cute way, I guess.

While moving Jenny’s bags, she told me about her major and why she wanted to be a journalist. She told me how excited she was to be in the city, as we put up her massive posters of comic book covers. “Its a change of scenery I definitely needed,” she said. It was at that point where Jenny unfurled her Spiderman bedsheets, causing me to burst out laughing. “What? Its not that funny,” she giggled. “It actually is if you had those exact bedsheets when you were a kid,” I retorted. Surprised, she replied, “No way! Really? Wow. The dork I am.” I responded, “Nah. You know what we are? We’re just cooler than everyone else. They just don’t know it yet.” Jenny giggled again, “That’s really sweet.”

She brought back her slight smile I saw her showing before, except it was there long enough for me to see the details of her freckled face and her wild, light blue eyes.

Then it hit me. There I was just staring at her like an idiot. Oh God, what do I do? I need to do something. “Uh, yeah well if you need anything else I’m in the room across from you, so yeah, feel free to find whenever you want,” I said after breaking our gaze and heading for the hall. Clearing her throat, “Oh, sure… uh, definitely, I’ll knock if I do.”

I headed out the door into the hall where she called out again, “Hey wait up.” I turned around, showing a tinge of embarrassment on my face; I was never that great of a poker player. “Listen, seeing how I usually don’t let strangers help me move my things in, I’d love to know your name… you know, in case I need you or something.” “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t… my name’s Ted,” I sputtered sheepishly. “That’s a… nice… that’s a nice name. Hey, so um… just so you know, I usually don’t let… I usually don’t let people I don’t like strangers to help me… move my stuff…” She wasn’t making much sense. My embarrassed expression turned to a confused look. She sighed, “Look at me, I’m tripping over my words here.” I interrupted, “maybe we should grab a slice sometime… you know pizza. I know a good place a block away. Maybe dinner tomorrow?”

I froze and so did she. It seemed the world stopped until she smiled, this time, a smile wider than she’s shown me before, “That sounds.. well that sounds great. I’ll see you at seven.” I grinned back, “See you then.”

And since then, she’s been the best thing to come out of Utah since “Pong.”

Track: “Blue Ridge Mountain”- Fleet Foxes

“You’ve got a Sandy on line 3. Its urgent,” my secretary squawked to me. I took the call at work. As her unsteady voice had delivered the news to me over the phone, the memories of a life I had lived long before had come crashing down upon my conscience; A good obedient brother, a well-mannered mother, a father who did everything he could to keep a roof over our heads just as his father had. And there I was, the young man who grew tired of just the keeping the roof attached and wanted more than my forebearers in the mountains ever could have give me. So I reached for the skyscrapers and barely ever looked back.

The stiff hands to shake, papers to write, and the dotted lines to sign came above all else, and it was easy to push aside her occasional soft-voiced concerns about how I’m eating and when I would visit on a land-line, but this call was different. “Its time to come back home,” she said with a quivering tone in between sobs.

I canceled my appointments for the week and pulled away from the urban sprawl as fast as I could, heading south towards the place where we learned how to crawl, walk and scale the mountains of our vintage scenery.

Slowly, the traffic around me changed from black Town Cars and yellow cabs with every feet to grey pickups, and coal-darkened Mack trucks with every passing mile. The things she had said on the phone kept following me in my Mercedes as every tractor-trailer I rushed past never seemed to stop the memories of the time spent with them and the guilt that followed me ever since I had left. The missing pair of hands around the house, the empty chair at supper time, the responsibilities I had eluded, the brother I had turned away, the mother I had ignored, and the father I had brazenly ditched. All for my green ambitions.

As I drove faster on the roads through the forest curving around the jagged exposed sedimentary faces, “I’m sorry,” was all that I could sputter to every flash image in the glare of the headlights passing. “I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t ignore you, I was at work. I want to make this right. Just stay. I need to fix this. Stay.”

As I turned to trade the pavement for the gravel path leading to what used to be my home, a sudden wave of urgency passed over me. I rushed out of the car, dashing for the front door. I looked at my watch, 4 AM who would be awake now? But an answer came, and with it the look of surprise on my brother’s matured face. He embraced me, let me in, and followed me as I instinctively ran to my parent’s bedroom upstairs. 

I appeared in the doorway to see my mother sitting and holding my bed-ridden father’s hand; she looked at me with a blank stare. I marched over, thinking to myself, “No, he cant be gone, not now, not yet.” But with every step I took, my heart grew heavier until I could clearly see the details of his pale, expressionless face sleeping in peace. And just as fast as the memories came back, his consciousness had gone to drift.

Track: “Butterfly Nets”- Bishop Allen

A lot had changed since I had last set foot on this beach. Almost feeling as if I had set foot on a sacred piece of the coastline, I remembered what we had with us from the last time: swim-wear, a guitar, a tank full of hope for our future, and a love to call our own. The thing we forgot was the one thing we hungered for; the absolute certainty within the ebb and flow that we would survive. And so from that tank, we kept drinking right on through the summer until we ran dry just as the season had come to a close. We didn’t realize what happens to love without hope, until the last drop had appeared before us. 

Many had told me to forget, but how could I dare to bring myself to that? I couldn’t. Not since the lovers of others have wandered the bland, grey streets of our beloved suburbia and together painted them a fresh coat of the entire spectrum with the strokes of their upturned lips, just as we had. Not since they had fought against the harsh tides and the gusts of the coming changes in the atmosphere, just as we had. Not since the others spoke of moments akin to a classic Broadway romance scene, just as we had. The unassuming tormentors struck my memory through the gustiest fall, the coldest winter, and the rainiest spring.

Still, I think of the mental pictures illustrated by our history, from time to time, and I wonder if you do the same. I’ve been picking up the scraps of our wreckage left behind in our old haunts in an attempt to be the guy I used to be before we had lived out the length of our story. Since then, I’ve gone and lived through empty shells only to leave just as soon as I had arrived, and I now walk alone, but not without some comfort.

Now as I retrace my footsteps, I feel as if I made my peace with all that I cant leave behind. You’ll be the scar that always stares back at me in the mirror, but scars never hurt forever. “So calm that wicked wind, and if you go, you could be gone forever. I will play awhile here, by and by.”