Somebody to Lean on... Part 1

There was this moment in time... When I thought I could make plans.  When I thought I could count on certain people to be in my life until we watched one another's hair grow gray.  There were moments when I thought... It's all over.  I can't do it anymore... But even when I gave up on myself, there were others telling me they knew I would get back up again.

The problem with being an artist is having no way to rely upon one's art for financial support until there is a finished product to sell.  Nevertheless, I can recount so many occasions during the past few years- Over the time since Ev Reheard became Every Heard... Since Echo Victory was conceived... that people I considered strangers informed me they were there to take care of me.

During my mayhem, they were there; telling me stories, feeding me, restocking my wardrobe with hand-me-downs, giving me places to sleep...

I remember the first.  You always remember your first.

Her name is Jules.  Actually her name is Julie, but she lets me call her Jules... She was a bartender at the Narberth Great American Pub, where I frequently cut my teeth at the open mic in those days.  Her blonde curls, athletic build, and winning smile always found her free drinks waiting when we went to bars.  She was the first of so many beautiful women... Who made me feel like I had suddenly been transported back to high school, transferred to a different district and adopted by the popular clique.  She gave me that look and understanding that would take me much longer and many more friends like her to comprehend... She thought I was like her.

My drinking was a problem then that I couldn't see, didn't want to see... It released me from my inhibitions, blinded me from my shame.  Humility was a distant hope that I did not yet consider claiming.  Humility then meant admitting how humiliating it was to stand on stage for a crowd, playing sad songs wrapped up in pretty melodies and elementary rhythms.  Humility meant facing the truth... and I was still running from myself then.

Like me, Jules has a professional career... She is a nurse.  I am a speech therapist.  We both adore people and being helpful, but at the end of the day, neither of us can seem to escape our passion to be out, working crowds and making friends.  She chose to tend bar.  Music chose to play me.

So many nights she let me drink far more than was safe, and many nights she drove me home... I never appropriately acknowledged her generosity until one particular incident- after a disagreement with a man I was seeing left me particularly vulnerable... Laying in a bathtub for most of the following day, contemplating the ways in which I could kill myself to escape my pain.

...The alternative was a music camp out, where I would be forced to face the man again- But where I would also be surrounded by friends... The moment I arrived, they were there, offering me hugs.  This was before I knew how to tell them how anxious the abundance of physical contact with others makes me...  Jules, on the other hand, knew what to do, "Come sit.  I have a chair for you," she placed a bottle of Yards IPA in my hand and popped the lid.  "Our tent is up in the back.  When you're ready, we'll go take a walk, and I'll show you where you can sleep."

I let out a long exhale, took in a large swig of strong beer and listened to the music wash over me.

From then on I began learning to give... I have always known how to give to lovers.  They incite those chemical reactions that turn me into a nurturer, a wife, a mother... This was different.  This meant playing different roles; a mother in ways, a sister in others... and I had never had sisters.  Jules taught me to give as much as I could when I had something to share, and in between much more was shared with me.

She taught me to accept that we are all flawed... She taught me to not pry but wait until she was ready to tell me details-  In the process, I learned to trust the manner in which my story unfolded before her.  We would see our respective playmates hang around when they were treating us well, and we would avoid a bitch fest when we could see they were wandering away.  During those times we reminded one another how special we were... are.  During those times, I began to accept that Jules was not so high above me that she would forget about me.  Instead, she extended a hand to show me where it was safe to walk up onto the next invisible step.

Suddenly, I was attractive like her... Suddenly, I wasn't constantly fearful that people wouldn't know I was smart.  Suddenly, I could make things happen...

...By the time I was moving into the city to be within biking distance of gigs, she was going west.  She voluntarily went to an intense camping program, where she would be deprived... Centered back to zero... Where she could restart her nursing career again away from all her old habits.  She still tends bar.  She still finds ways to support artists.  She still sends me love, and someday soon we will meet again.

It was one beautiful weekend I spent at a river house with her that I knew... I had one of those moments; as we kayaked and swam in our bikinis, as she bathed in the sun to my music, as we discussed her plan to spend her twilight years in a rocking chair on the porch of a house like this one... that was when I knew we would grow gray together.