Chapter 13: Goodbye Mister, Hello Victor

Following the Tin Angel show, Victor would visit my apartment several times... After gigs and rehearsals, I would cook him a meal.  He would give me a guitar lesson.  My first real guitar lessons.  I was a horrible student... But I loved hearing him talk about theory, show me tricks and licks.  Our conversations would last into the early morning hours, but he would never cross the imaginary boundary between friend and suitor.  

He said things like, "I just got out of a relationship.  I think the most I could look for right now is a fuck-buddy," and, "I don't make a move on a girl unless I'm sure she wants me to."  

I felt safe.  I would be single.  I would learn to play the guitar well... Being single seemed to be a sort of social currency.  Men wanted to be around me, spend time with me.  It did not mean I had to sleep with them, but that possibility seemed to motivate them to help me... and I needed a lot of help.  I did not know the first thing about being a musician, besides letting these beautiful songs pour out.  That part was natural, but the rest- I had to learn by observing others, making friends, and making mistakes...

One day I saw an odd post from Victor on Facebook, "After years of playing with folk bands, I finally wrote a little folk tune."

It's for you. I tried to ignore my inclination that he was feeling anything for me.  My inclination that I was feeling anything for him.

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The end of September... the day before I abandoned the little blue rock, I took myself to an open mic in the burbs.  Victor was there.  Odd, this was not his usual scene.  Still, he knew people there, not a clear sign that he was pursuing me in particular -maybe he was just trying to network in a new circle.  We chatted... at the end of the evening, he walked me to my car.  Later, Victor would recount that I looked sad as we parted ways.  I was- so many nights we had extended our time together into the early morning hours.  But at that point, I could not reconcile a role for him in my life yet.

In truth, I felt torn, wanting Victor to claim me... harboring the hope that the Gypsy would call me after midnight, when it was officially October.  I sat in the park, where I had once upon a time sat with him, watching him smoke an endless chain of unfiltered Camels... alone.

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http://echovictory.blogspot.com/2013/08/chapter-12-little-blue-rock.html

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Days later I received text messages that appeared to be written October 1st... A technological glitch?  A sign?  It didn't matter... after my Reiki session, my open mic feature, my almost kiss with Victor, it didn't matter.

The same week, I was hosting an open mic... where both Ben and Mr. Mister were hanging out for the evening.  The festivities had only just begun when I received an urgent text message from my brother, "Call asap."

My dad was in the hospital.  He had been experiencing a serious heart condition for over a year by that time.  It caused his heart to speed up to a dangerous rate.  The only way to slow it down was to reset it with a defibrillator.  I fell apart on the inside but I had already started drinking... I decided I would have to go home- tomorrow.  Tonight, I was going to get very drunk.

A strange mess happened in my mind.  Like I needed to reach out, as though whoever I chose to turn to would be the person I really wanted... This was foolish, of course.  But my brain works in strange ways, and when it gets one of these ideas- it does not want to let it go.

Ben was the first person to ask what was wrong.  I told him.  His parents were old, and he understood what it was like to watch a chronic condition continue for years... But I was disgruntled with myself for choosing to confide in him.

I drank... a lot.  I smoked... and when my gal pal, Lily tried to follow me back to Ben's apartment, along with Mr. Mister and several other gents, I drunkenly told her, "If you come along, I'm done with you... Just because I'm throwing my life away apparently, doesn't mean you have to-"

I watched a little piece of her heart break in her eyes as she rode away on her bicycle. 

At Ben's apartment I ran immediately to the bathroom, finding the toothbrush he had immediately purchased for me when we started dating, still in his medicine cabinet months after we had stopped seeing one another.  I took it, ran out onto the balcony where he and Mr. Mister sat rolling joint, and threw it at the garbage can in front of them... It missed.  Damn.  That would have been much cooler if it had went in- I bent down, picked it up, placed it in the can, then went over to the railing of the balcony, where I found myself dry-heaving.

Mr. Mister looked to Ben for an explanation, and Ben obliged.  Neither of them offered me any consoling.

We smoked and drank more... joked and laughed and the time rolled by- Then something about the hour suddenly struck me, and I was running for the door.  Ben's front door was a complicated mess; two locks that had to be twisted just so, as the doorknob was turned.  In my drunken, high -stupor it felt like a combination lock... Wait, was the top lock locked, horizontal or vertical?  Do I twist while I turn the bottom lock?  Lefty loosey?  Or is it backwards?  I told myself, Slow down.  Be methodical.  There are only so many combinations to try.  I flipped through the configurations, controlling my breath to not become frustrated.  Abracadabra, it opened!  As the door swung open, I heard a burst of laughter from the guys upstairs.  In my mind they were completely aware of what I was doing and making commentary on my escape.  Free!

I raced home on my bike, correcting more than one wrong turn... Inside my apartment I found one of my pictures had fallen off the wall.  Broken glass scattered across the floor.  Restless, I cleaned the mess.  I wanted to get into my car at that moment, but I knew it was not safe... The next thing I knew I was listening to a ringtone.  What are you doing?

"Hello?"  his sleepy voice answered.

"Victor.  Hi.  You're sleeping.  I'm sorry."

"Echo?  Are you okay?"

"No.  Yeah.  I mean..."  Why are you calling him?  What do you want him to do for you?  He barely knows you.  "I just need to calm down and go to sleep... How are you?"  

"Um," He yawned, "Okay.  What's up?"

Can you come over?  Can you take me to York?  I need you.  "Um.  I don't want to talk about it.  I just- needed to settle down so I can sleep... and I feel better now.  Thanks."  I kept the conversation brief.  I did not want to go into the details.  I really was okay.  I went to bed.  I awoke early and took myself to York, to the hospital where my grandfather died many years prior.  I took my guitar to my father's room and stayed with him over the next day and night, urging my mother to go home and rest.

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I barely slept at all the night I spent in my father's ICU room.  There were many machines monitoring his heart and breathing and whatever all else... I could see that he was afraid to fall asleep.  He recounted the defibrillator experience.  He had thought he was dead.  For several hours I held his hand.  He allowed me to give him Reiki for the first time.  Later he would even request it, "Would you put your hands on me and pray again?"  I stopped worrying about what terminology he used.

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The Gypsy called me while I was at the hospital.  He was comforting to talk to, as his father had recently almost died.  I also confided in him that I sometimes feared that I would never feel free of Mr. Mister...

"I can help you, if you want," he offered.  I accepted.  "Relax.  Close your eyes and imagine the gossamer threads tying you to him.  Now one by one, cut them.  Let them fall away.  Feel yourself become lighter..."

This guided relaxation went on for many minutes.  I remember feeling nearly asleep... What little rest I had gotten had been sleeping in a hospital chair in my father's room.

We did not talk about the Gypsy's girlfriend.  We did not talk about whether he wanted to see me.  I ignored the situation... But something in me had not let it go entirely.

When my father was stable and moved to a regular wing of the hospital, I made my excuses and headed back to Philadelphia, "I have a hungry kitty waiting at home."  During the ride, I kept thinking of cutting the threads from Mr. Mister... Then without thinking about it, I saw myself also cutting the threads tying me to the Gypsy.  As I did so, I made two stops; I bought beer and paint.  While I shopped for the paint, I called the Gypsy.

"Do you want to see me?"

"Sure.  Let's do that soon."

"Soon?  What's going on?  I haven't asked you about anything... and I know I'm not supposed to-"  A sigh of resignation; I had already realized it, but I had not said it aloud yet.  "Nothing has changed.  Nothing is going to change.  I'm done."

He tried to tell me that he wanted to make a plan to see me, but it wasn't working anymore.  I wasn't interested in being strung along.

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At home I proceeded to get a beer buzz as quickly as possible... and painted... a mess.  Then, out of the blue, I called Victor.  I spoke to him once from the hospital, explaining the situation, apologizing for the 4 am phone call.  This call was different.  For the first time, I found myself wanting to go to his apartment.  I did not have to say much to inspire an invitation.

I tossed the remaining beer into a bag and rolled over to the other side of the city.  I tried to avoid imagining scenarios in my head.  I told myself I just wanted to play music with him...

His bachelor pad was surprisingly tidy.  He was a little embarrassed of his bathroom, as most normal single heterosexual men I have encountered are... mild dust-bunnies making homes in the corners, but overall, quite an adult apartment.  He had real furniture; a dining room table, a couch that was not from Ikea... half of his living room dedicated to his instruments and recording equipment.  Not just another aimless Peter Pan- This man has his college degree in music.  He's got plans that he is really working on.  This man is more than just talk-

I popped open two beers and handed him one, rambling the mess of thoughts from the hospital... We listened to records.  We played guitars and video games... We talked... I asked him to play the "folk tune" he mentioned on Facebook.  Blushing, he obliged-

I got a handful of sand to sell. I got a handful of sand to sell.
I got nothing else- so who the hell is gonna buy what I'm trying to sell.
My clothes are old and torn.  My shoes are old and worn.
And I'm as broke as the day I was born- in clothes so old and torn.

Well, I know that nothin's free.  I don't want no charity.
But this is all I've got, and it would mean a lot-
Buy a handful of sand from me.

There's a girl I wanna impress, and she likes her man well-dressed.
-and that's the cause of all of my distress- This girl I want to impress

I got a handful of sand to sell. I got a handful of sand to sell.
I got nothing else- so who the hell is gonna buy what I'm trying to sell.

........."No one's heard it.  Except you... I definitely wrote it because we were hanging out."

Don't read into it.  He's just being nice to you because he's a nice person.

He caught a glimpse of the magic marker where I had scribbled on my forearm.  "What's that?"

"Oh... It says PERSEVERANCE.  It's something I do to remind myself.  To perseverate means that you do something again and again, for no reason.  Like the brain damaged people I used to give therapy to- They can't control themselves from repeating a word over and over," I explained, "I want to remember to not perseverate.  I want to persevere!  I want to overcome... to stop making the same mistakes."

"Perseverance.  It's a good word," he smiled.

The hours melted away like minutes.  Despite the many nights we had already spent together, we never ran out of things to say or found a need to turn on a movie.  We were occupied with art and books and music.  We had very similar interests but somehow overlapped little in what we had to share and teach one another.  I found myself asking if I could spend the night on his couch.  He said yes.

...I laid there alone for less than fifteen minutes, convincing myself the couch was unbearably uncomfortable before I let myself knock on his door, "Victor."

"Yeah, Echo?  You okay?"

"...Would it be okay if I slept in your bed?"

"Uh, sure."

I laid down beside him.  In the darkness I felt -for just a moment- his hand begin to slip beneath my neck to put his arm around me.  Yes, you can, if you want.  Just hold me... Or you can take advantage of me- I'm a wreck.  Maybe if you're not a nice guy I can stop myself from liking you.  He hesitated, pulled it back, and we fell asleep, like brother and sister.

...In the morning he suggested we get breakfast and his local coffee shop.  When he let me know that he only had enough cash for his own meal, I opted to pay for everything.  Money was the one thing I was not concerned about at that time.  We ate and went our own separate ways.

"I think I'm going to see some music at a little bar on this side of town tonight, if you're interested... If you don't want to be alone still," he told me.

"Thanks, I might."

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On my bike ride home, the muses began singing in my mind's ear.  When I got home, I lit a joint and wrote Victor a song:

I don't need no money- no cars or rings
I don't need gold or diamonds- I don't like shiny things
No, I don't need no one to buy me- no more new shoes
No, I don't need nothing, no one, but I want you

(CHORUS)
'Cause I have everything, I have all that I need
and if you feel the same, you could share this life with me
and we'd have everything, that money can't buy
and if you feel the same, there'd be no mountain that we can't climb
and we'd share everything, that two people could need
and if you feel the same, you should be with me

I don't need nothing that I can hold in my hand
Don't need no house, no fancy car, or even- a piece of land
No, I don't need nothing that money can ever buy
I don't need no anchor when I'm just learning to fly

(CHORUS)

'Cause I've been waiting for so long- to finally be found
with my head in the clouds, and one foot on the ground
No, I don't need no one to tell me that the sky is blue
But darlin', the grass, is greener when I'm with you

(CHORUS)

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...Despite this offer, he seemed genuinely surprised to hear from me later that night, asking for the bar address.  It was a hip little joint, hiding above an Ethiopian restaurant.  They served a wide variety of craft bottle beers and strong mixed drinks.  I let him buy me a beer.  We discussed the selection- That's right.  I'm a girl who likes good beer.  I see you do too.  Excellent.

The music was fantastic.  The Perseverance Band.  We both looked at each other knowingly.  "Perseverance," he whispered in my ear over the loudness of the music.  I smiled.

Up until that point, I had been afraid to openly discuss the spiritual journey I was experiencing... I began to feel like I was changing so much- as a musician, as a Reiki practitioner, as a person- that no one would really know who I was, who I had been... Here was this man that I could tell everything, who never looked at me like I had two heads.

Suitor, friend, or family member; there was only so much talking I could do before I would recognize that look in their eyes- The "she's from another planet" look.  Here was proof for him... That words followed me around.  That signs showed me I was in the right place at the right time.  I'm supposed to be here... with you?

When we went back to his apartment, I played my new tune for him- The song I wrote for him, my response to his.  I asked to spend the night again.  This time I went directly into his bed.  If you need my permission.  If you're still wondering if I want you to-  This time he did put his arm around me... This time he put his lips to mine.  Sparks... beautiful, confusing sparks.

"Wait.  I really want to play music with you... and my dad... and I'm kind of vulnerable right now," I paused.

"I know.  That's why I didn't before... But I wanted to that night, at your apartment," he was trying to explain that he did not want to take advantage of my vulnerable state- that this was not a sudden decision.

"I don't want to ruin anything.  My band is my priority right now... You know my heart has been broken a lot lately, and I'm not a-"  I hesitated to say the word, "fuck-buddy."

"No, I didn't think that..."  He pulled away, and we laid like brother and sister again, balanced.

"I like you."

"I like you too."

Chapter 10: Touching & Talking

My decision to not have anymore boyfriends was one that surprised me.  It arose from a conversation with a man I was dating, Ben.  Benny owned a bar... and he was an alcoholic.  He seduced me with twenty-six days of sobriety.  My standards were low, as I was still recovering from a year long infatuation with Mr. Mister.

"What do you mean 'no more boyfriends'... You mean you're just going to get married?" he attempted to clarify.

I did the math, "I guess so."  There did not seem to be another way around it.  "I have had boyfriends.  I treated them like husbands, like I was giving my entire life to them... and they did not reciprocate.  After a few years, I realized they never would, and I left."

I caught the perplexed look on his face and waited, giving him a chance to speak.

"What does reciprocate mean?"

Ben was not the brightest boy, but I told myself to remain open minded.

The first time we met was at the Lickety Split open mic, several months before he would pursue me romantically.  I was talking to a friend of his who played the keys.  This friend seemed to think he would do Ben a favor by introducing us.

At that moment, I was still trying to find my confidence.  As he made conversation, I reminded myself, "Just be yourself.  Don't think.  Don't edit."  I can not recall all of the content, but I know I was charming.  I know my heritage came up, and as usual I was told I was pretty- Something I truly did not believe yet.

"I grew up looking at Korean women, thinking that's what I should look like; skinny, petite, tan.  But instead I got these big boobs and childbearing hips!"

Ben was pretty chubby during that first meeting.  He reminded me of Jackie Gleason.  I told him so- He did not take it as a compliment.

After I played, and he complimented me, his friends bought a round of shots.  As we raised our glasses he said, "Goodbye."

"Goodbye?  Are you leaving?"  I asked.

He grinned, "No, I'm not going anywhere yet... But I won't be here anymore." Then he downed his shot.

We chatted a little more over the remainder of the night.  When it was last call, I began to gather my belongings.

"What are you doing now?" He inquired.

"I'll probably go home and play some more music."

"Wanna have another drink?"

"It's two, all the bars are closing."

"We can go to my bar, drink more.  You can play there."

For a split second I considered how fun it would be to have a bar to myself... But with this drunk stranger, who no doubt would say he was platonic but likely end up trying to touch me.

"Rain-check," I smiled, said goodnight and drove home.

Upon entering my apartment, I caught a glimpse of myself in the three mirrors I had hung, staggered across the wall.  "Oh no," I heard myself say, "What did you do?  Look at you!  You are pretty, and you said all sorts of alluring things to that man!"

Months later this sentiment turned into a song:
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She Ain't Me

She likes to ride in fast cars and hang out late in bars
She drinks a lot of beer and never sheds a tear
She wears a fancy dress and never makes a mess
But she doesn't fight fair- so buyer beware

No, she ain't me- This here girl you see
No matter what you do, she can't be with you

She looks like me.  She's my evil twin.
Knows all my secrets, shares in every sin
If you don't believe me wait around and see
She's my very best friend and my worst enemy

She likes to entertain, and she may seem vain
She'd like to be a star but can't play a guitar
and though we look the same, and we share a name
I'm nothing like her- who you'd prefer

No, she ain't me- This here girl you see
No matter what you do, she can't be with you

No I'm a different girl from the one you see
I ain't her, and she ain't me
If you find a way to get her into your bed
You'll wind up waking next to me instead

So don't waste your time, buying her whiskey or wine
You'll ask for her number, but she'll give you mine
No, she ain't me- This here girl you see
No matter what you do, do, do... she can't be with you!
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Months later Ben lured me to his bar, then back to his apartment to smoke weed and watch cartoons.  He was a good listener.  I made it clear that I was on a dating hiatus, that my heart was broken, that I was not interested.  Nevertheless, I had already begun to make promises to myself... About trying to do things differently this time.  I would consider everyone around me a potential mate- until someone claimed me, really committed his life to me as I would mine to him.  I would not be superficial.  I would not be judgmental or pretentious.  I would put aside my presumptions about what I thought I wanted and just spend time with people.

I found myself being reluctantly courted by Ben.  He would draw pictures of me as I played guitar.  He would feed me delicious local cuisine from his south Philly neighborhood, get me drunk, smoke a joint with me, then pet me while I sedately watched cartoons.  He called this prelude to dating, "touching and talking".

Little did I know he was eagerly counting down the hours until my 100 day man-fast would end.

This was when I wrote my first joke:

So, it's hard being a female at an open mic.  I'm always outnumbered 10 to 1 by the boys.  We hang out at these bars, drink and play... and by the end of the night, we're feeling good- A guy will ask me to go back to his place to "jam".  No funny business, just chill and play some tunes, he says.  So... we go back to his place, he offers me a beer.  Sure, I'll have one more beer tonight.  He turns on the TV- Oh, yeah, I like this show too.  Cool.  After an episode, I think it's getting late- I should start heading home.  He says, no stay a little while longer.  Let's smoke a joint... Alright, I'll smoke a little... The couch starts to get really comfortable... If the guy is smart, he has some snacks to share... This is alright ...Then the next thing I know, he's trying to shove his tongue down my throat, and I'm like- Whoa!  Wait, wait, wait!  What the hell?  You mean I can't follow you home, sit on your coach, watch your TV, drink you beer, smoke your weed, and eat your food- without you trying to put the moves on me?!          ...Then he tells me I talk too much.

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Ben and I had a few nice dates.  One time we took his nephew to the movies.  I watched Ben pretend we were a family.  He seemed happy...  But after a few weeks, he started drinking again, and I watched him fall apart.  I listened to him belittle and berate himself.  I saw him cry on several occasions.  Until eventually he ended our courtship.  I felt like when he looked at me now he saw a reflection of everything he disliked about himself...

"We have to stop this..." He said, "I can't break up with you- because I'm not with you, but we can't see each other anymore."

"Okay... You don't wanna just hang out?"

"Nope.  Can't."

"Okay."

...The next few times I talked to him, he would drone on about his old crush- How he was still obsessed with her.  He would project that I must be equally obsessed with Mr. Mister.  Rather than becoming jealous, he became friends with Mr. Mister.  It was a strange dynamic.

By then I had become good friends with his roommate, Ashley.  So we still ran into one another... But I told him, "If you already know the answer, I won't argue."

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Later into the future I would recount this story to the Gypsy.

"So you just walked away?"

"Yeah.  That's what he wanted.  Why would I argue?"

"Don't you think he wanted you to?  ...if you really cared?"

I thought about it, still do from time to time, and I always come to the same conclusion, "I guess I didn't, or I would have."

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At least once Ben confused me by asking me to hang out again.  One time in particular he was very wasted and tossed a book at me... Some self-help dating book.  He said this was how he seduced me.  He said he wanted to know if he could get a girl like me... It never occurred to me that I was any sort of prize to be won, but once he got me, he was finished with me- and just as well.  His kiss gave me no sparks either.

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I was surprised to receive an invitation to Mr. Mister's birthday party at Ben's bar.  I decided to go- to show no ill will towards either of them... That was where Spectacle found me again.  "Hey, where did you go?"

"Oh, hi.  Me?  I'm around."

"I haven't seen you... You disappeared."

I did not want to explain to him that after several weeks of fooling around, he had made me feel like a fool in public.  He could not communicate with me well enough to say whether he wanted to spend time with me or not.  We did not get to know one another, could not read each other... Neither of us made contact between the times we bumped into one another, despite having each other's contact info.  So, I stopped being around him.

I did not explain it to him.  Instead I watched another woman flirting with him, while he seemed to be flirting with me... Then I went home alone.

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Occasionally I would catch up with Ben.  He would ramble on about the same self-deprecating woes that he had many years before I ever met him.  "Ben, you're a good guy.  You have lots of friends who care about you.  Why do you do this to yourself?  Are you a masochist?"

"What's a masochist?"

Chapter 9: Maybe Baby

Amazing things began to happen...  Mr. Mister was recording his album, preparing a CD release party.  Meanwhile I was booked for my first real gig.  I was coordinating band rehearsals and beginning to promote.  Up until that point I was hesitant to even call myself a "musician".  I felt inadequate... But I knew if I was doing this, I was going to do it right.  I took a hard gulp and created a Facebook band page.  I designed and printed flyers.  I rode the open mic circuit hard.

By the time Christmas came around, I was in a strange place.  My 29th birthday approaching.  My heart up in the air... Suddenly Mr. Mister seemed to be around again- But not really... Because he was always working and recording.  -And I could see her staking her claim.   I could see events unfolding fast and knew I had nothing to do with what the outcome would be.  I took my hands off the wheel and enjoyed the ride...

 One popular Center City open mic was having a special Christmas themed open mic... Every musician had to play at least one Holiday song.  I was still miserable to learning covers.  I tried to sit down and learn one, but within a few hours, I had written a fun little tune of my own... Derived from the chord progressions of "All of me" and "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out", I put together a song that spoke all about how badly I missed Mr. Mister... About how every time I walked the route from the open mic to my apartment, I half expected him to drive up and tell me to get in...

"Maybe Baby"

Last year, I met a man in red

He had a long beard and a fancy sled

He pulled up, next to me, and flashed a grin,

winked an eye and welcomed me in

He said, "Baby, come sit by my side,

and I'll take you for one hell of a ride!

We don't need no roads, where we're gonna go-

just look down at the rooftops aglow

 We're gonna fly, on the wind- just like a kite

I'm gonna take you 'round the world tonight

'Cause, Baby- Maybe... Maybe, Baby,

You were made for me, for me, for me, for me

For me, for me, for me, for me."

All that night we rode 'round together,

staying warm through all sorts of weather

We fed the cookies to his funny reindeer,

while we shared a flask of holiday cheer

 He told me, "Mrs. Claus, well, she's the real myth

I've searched the whole world for the one to be with

So, Baby- Maybe... Maybe, Baby,

You were made for me, for me, for me, for me

For me, for me, for me, for me."

Since that morning that he dropped me home

I knew better than to wait by the phone

I tried to roam and run with the boys,

but I had more fun just playin' with my toys

So, tell me Santa, where are you this year?

-and did you get the letters I sent you, dear?

Will you- meet me under the mistletoe?

I'll wrap myself up, complete with a bow

'Cause, Baby- Maybe... Maybe, Baby,

I was made for you, for you, for you, for you

For you, for you, for you...

After Christmas, we were at the open mic... Then at a friend's after party.  I asked him to take me home... When he started to touch me this time, I did not stop him.  We finally had sex again.  He watched me in disbelief.  Then, only moments afterwards, I felt a twinge come over me.  My mind spoke because my heart hadn't the courage, "I think you have a girlfriend."

"Huh? Nah."

"Yeah... Pretty sure you do.  You should find out- 'Cause I don't fuck guys with girlfriends."

That was the last time we were intimate.  By New Years, he proved me right.

I started a count down of 100 days... No men.

Chapter 8: Sparks

Halloween was wonderful.  Several nights of Mr. Mister… drunk crazy nights, but lovely nights.  I was girl-scout again and again… in my knee-high Doc Martins, brown sweater tights, and authentic vintage girl-scout uniform a girlfriend had lent me.  I felt wonderful, sexy.  I made cookies and handed them out at bars.  I didn’t worry about feeling out of place because I was playing a character the entire time…

The last dress up night, Mr. Mister offered to take me home.  I remember him driving drunk, recklessly reversing back half of my street for a parking space, when I reminded him that he had to park on the right direction or get a ticket.  The exaggerated movement of the car felt like we were a cartoon for a moment… and the moment continued as I jumped out of the car and skipped like a school girl, up the sidewalk and into my apartment building.  I could hear him smirking and admiring the show I was putting on… It was not for him, but I was basking in the fact that he was entertained and attracted by the display of my true nature… the authentic self that I was usually too ashamed to let shine through.

In my apartment, I shuffled around in my kitchen, in search of a snack for Mr. Mister.  He sat in my dining room, watching… Then the next thing I knew, he had grabbed me, spun me around, and pulled me into his lap, kissing me with such abandon that the chair tipped over and we tumbled onto the floor.  Undeterred from our lustful groping, he tore my sweater tights.  I don’t know how that evening did not end in intercourse.  It was just innocent enough, just filthy enough to be perfect.

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…Many beautiful nights- of a youth that I had postponed knowing until he came into my life.  As it happened, I took it for granted.  I reminded myself, “This is it.  This IS the relationship.  It is what is happening now, and you’re missing it…”

Happily feeding him french toast at three o’clock in the morning, watching the stars in the sky disappear as birds serenaded in the sun, occasionally indulging in small inhales of his Marlboro Lights… All I could see was the other women he wanted to pursue, how I must have been lacking somehow…  I began mourning for us long before it was over.

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I won’t say too much about her… Just that- I saw her chasing Mr. Mister, and I wondered if that was how I had seemed at some point.  He did not see her coming.  Men rarely do.

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Despite our fun, Mr. Mister still seemed to be pushing me to explore… and he was clearly doing some exploring of his own.  So, one night, after a show, I asked my one superficial crush, Mr. Spectacle to go have a piece of pie with me-  What else is there to ask a guy to do after midnight that doesn’t sound like an indecent proposition?

Initially he said yes… Then he said he was going to another bar to see another band.  ”Rain-check,” I smiled, trying to not show my disappointment.  However, a moment later I was tapping on his shoulder, politely asking if I could meet him there.  He agreed.

I knew he was on a bike.  So, I went to catch a bus across town.  I had taken the train into the city and assumed there would be a bus back to the burbs late night.

On my way to the bus stop, mutual friends of Spectacle and I found me.  A younger couple, silly and sweet; I tried not to seem anxious.  The guy inquired quite unexpectedly, “So, are you and Spectacle going to make out tonight?”

“What?  I don’t know.  I don’t think so-” I blushed.

At the bar, Spectacle bought me a beer.  We made small talk.

When 2 AM came and everyone began to wander home, I told him I was walking back to center city, where I was sure I could catch a bus.  He was hesitant to leave me on my own and walked with me, pushing his bike.  Perhaps it was obvious that I did not want the evening to be over, but I really didn’t have anything in mind beyond that walk.  I would not have known what to imagine.

Spectacle began interrogating me for the dirt that I had been avoiding during small talk.  What was going on with me?  What kind of expectations did I have?

I told him I didn’t have any expectations.  I was going through a confusing mess with loving someone who didn’t love me.  In this case, my emotional detachment would be an asset.  I knew Spectacle was trying to be a gentleman and not get involved with a woman with feelings.

We arrived at City Hall, covered with tents, Occupy Philadelphia protesters.  I had seen it on television, but being there in person, seeing the shanty town for the first time with my own eyes, I was astounded.

The next part was a jumbled mess of words.  His being skeptical I would find a bus home.  My insistence that I could take care of myself and didn’t need him to worry about my transportation or my feelings… Then he was kissing me.  Sparks.  As we came apart, neither of us said anything for a moment, as if we were savoring the flavor still in our mouths.

He still had his hand around the small of my back, “Should I get a taxi?”

I heard the words, but I couldn’t process them quickly enough.  What did that mean?  ”Uh, uh-huh.  Yeah.”

As he locked his bike up outside City Hall and waved a cab, my mind flooded with thoughts.  I am going to his place for the night.  Does that mean we’re going to have sex?  Can’t we just sit and watch cartoons?  Is it too late to change my mind?  Do I want to change my mind?

At his place he gave me a tour.  He gave me a t-shirt and boxers to wear.  We brushed our teeth.  We crawled into bed.  It almost felt completely innocent… Until it wasn’t.

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The next time Mr. Mister asked me if I had made out with anyone new lately… We were sitting on my couch, watching cartoons.  When I answered honestly and succinctly, he paused for a few minutes.  Then he put down his half finished glass of iced tea, said goodnight, and walked out the door.

Chapter 8: Volunteer

My first FFest as a volunteer, Mr. Mister was the first person I ran into- working at the gate.  He left his post to smoke a cigarette and talk to me.  By the time he found me later that night, I had met Mr. Felix; a sweet simple guy, a Charlie Brown, eager to be nice to me.  I hung out with him and Mr. Pan, a small percussion specialist, who had until recently been in a serious long term relationship with another girlfriend.  She had left him for another man.  So, I didn’t see the harm in entertaining his interest in me.  But all I wanted was for Mr. Mister to grab me and drag me back to his tent…

Instead we met near dawn, wandering.  I took him back to my campsite to feed him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  A random teenage boy joined us.  Mr. Mister tossed a football with him, as I spread the fixings on the bread.  I thought- is this what it might be like… someday?

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One particularly drunken night at FFest, I decided to confront Mr. Pan.  I told him that if he was interested in me, he could come wander and chat with me.  As the evening progressed, he seemed to think we were making progress, as I was becoming ever more convinced that it was going no where.  So, I stopped him and explained, “You can just kiss me.  You’ll know, one way or the other.  I have my doubts, but if you’re still curious, that’s the fastest way to find an answer.”

We walked around for another twenty minutes before he found a shady place, in the darkness of night, where he felt safe and brave enough to try a smooch.  It was a light peck.  No fireworks, and I thought he understood, but the next day, he still asked me to go to the river with him.  I accepted the invitation but spent most of my time interrogating him and explaining how wrong we were for one another.

Sweet guy… too sweet for me.

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After Fest, I dated Felix.  Our dates were all adventures; hiking, kayaking, camping.  He lived in New Jersey, and we would spend entire weekends together.  It took a little while… eventually, I was willing to have sex with him.  He was fun to make plans with, but I was not sure how he would fit into the rest of my life.  During our dates, somehow I had met his mother and stepfather, as well as his sister and her husband.  It was all so well-orchestrated to lead into a long term relationship that I did not want… He didn’t know it, but the first invitation he extended to me upon returning home from Fest would be our last date.

At the end of August, he had asked me to go see “We Were Promised Jetpacks” at Union Transfer, Halloween weekend.  By the time that weekend arrived, I had decided we had gone as far as we could go, but I knew he had reserved the ticket for me.  As I stood on the train platform, October 29th, in the snow, I thought, “Snow in October.  This is a sign.  I should stay home.”  Even after the train service was cancelled for the night, I ignored my intuition, telling myself, “I can’t sit at home another night, watching my phone, waiting for someone who doesn’t want to see me.”

I drove into the city, dressed like a girl-scout, a costume that would make getting carded inevitable.  I ate dumplings with Felix and his friend.  His friend- who was his ride- who encouraged Felix to go home with me after the show and catch a train back to NJ the next day… I acquiesced, accepting that they had probably bought me two-too-many beers to drive home on my own at that point.  I made him stop at the pub, where Jube and others were celebrating Halloween early with local musicians.  I tried to introduce Felix.  I watched him fail to fit in… Then I went home with him and tried to go to sleep, while he tried to seduce me-

That was when I heard it- My phone was ringing… I jumped out of Felix’s arms and answered it.

“Echo, you home?”

“Yeah.”  My skin was burning from where Felix had been touching me.

“You wanna watch cartoons?”

I playfully told him no… hung up… Then panicked, texted him that the Folk Fest guy was in my bed.  He texted back that he didn’t need to know.  Devastated, I returned to bed in tears.  Recoiling from Felix, I fell asleep in pain and despair.

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It wasn’t as if Mr. Mister minded me seeing another guy… In fact, he frequently encouraged me.  ”Did you make out with anyone lately?”

“No.”

“Why not?  There must be someone you wanna make out with-”

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Enter Mr. Froyo, Mr. Mister’s former roommate.  He was a great guitarist and a good teacher, but an absolute headcase.  When I heard him play the guitar, I knew I would do anything to make him hang around and teach me what Mr. Mister never offered to teach me.  This included falling into bed with him… twice.  It surprised me that Mr. Froyo wanted my company and attention more than my body.  It may have even offended me, if I had liked him at all.  But, with my heart was simply unavailable.  I had bargained my body for help with my music…

Some days he would show up for only an hour, just long enough to sneak a quick song out of me.  He played and I sang- the original melodies and lyrics pouring out.  I recall more than once feeling the same sensation I might have felt had he stopped by for a quickie sex session… exploited.

Then he started showing up at my place, high as a kite- on something other than weed.  One time he handed me a nondescript pill and told me to take it… I was glad I had pocketed it instead, when the next thing I knew, he had taken me to the music shop where Mr. Mister taught lessons.  Froyo seemed disappointed later, when I revealed I had not swallowed it.

The last straw came when one day, out of the blue, he called me and started an argument…

I was complaining of a headache, “I probably just need to take some Tylenol.”

“No one should take that shit.  That shit should be illegal!”

“Doctor’s prescribe it…”

Following this conversation, he un-friended me on Facebook and never spoke to me again.  Somehow, I think there was more to it than his fervent opinions on my choice of over-the-counter headache relievers, but he never told me- so, I will never know, nor do I particularly care.

We wrote at least five or six songs… that were never rehearsed, never performed in public… that are gone forever.

Chapter 7: The Frog

After our big door-kicking fight, Mr. Mister took a few months regrouping.  I saw him around.  I could not help but be at the same open mics and shows with our friends.  This was a family that had adopted me, and I was grateful to have them.  I was growing, becoming a performer, meeting myself.

It had started earlier… during the good times.  I had told him, “I think I’m hallucinating music.”  He told me he also heard music, but that is where the conversation ended.  Occasionally I would record myself singing, but it was not until I was desperate to tell him how badly I wanted him to come back to me that I found the courage to ask other musicians for assistance.

Mr. Mister’s lead guitarist, Andy was the one to offer his time.  ”I’ll come over and help you.”

Perhaps once in a while, there would be a text message around last call… I told myself it meant more if it arrived before 2 AM, before he knew there would be no better last minute offer from some barfly.  He would ask me if I wanted to watch cartoons and smoke weed… and I would never turn him down.  I would catch myself laying by my phone, waiting.  Sometimes he wanted to fool around.  Other times, he didn’t bother.  I continued my silent quest to remain unpenetrated until he confessed his love for me.

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Independence day, friends threw a festival in their back yard.  I volunteered to help out… I am not sure how it happened that day- I did not expect it, but when it was time to leave, he was offering me a ride home.  Home we went, maybe we made out a little… fell asleep in my bed.

Then something happened that I had wanted but was not ready for… Deep in sleep, I felt him begin to touch me.  I felt him begin to try to- and I was saying no, “because you don’t want me.”  He leaped from bed and went to the dining room, where he began putting on his shoes.  I could feel his frustration, both with the situation, as well as sexually.

Nearly naked, I found myself coiled like a cat, telling him, “You’re right.  I’ve waited too long.”  Six months.  ”Just do it… please.”

“I can’t.”  His voice was sincere, not cruel.  He was running away.

I felt myself falling apart inside.  One moment everything had been exactly as I had hoped.  The next, I had pushed him away.

“Echo.  I love you.”

I heard the words.  Without thinking, I read into these beautiful words, “But not the way you want.”  I retorted, “I love you, too… Please, come back to bed.”

“I can’t.”

I locked the door behind him- then found his cell phone still in my bed… Within minutes, he was knocking on my door, and I was terrified about the scene getting uglier if I tried to open it and say goodbye to him a second time.

He was angry and tired and pounding on my door, no doubt waking my neighbors.  I gave in and opened the door… Gave him his phone.  Then without thinking, I locked the door behind me and ran down the street to Rolex’s house.  He was surprised to find me on his doorstep, but he willing to fulfill my need to be owned and consumed, just once.

The next morning, he could see I was suicidal again.  He had put away his razors and pharmaceuticals before allowing me into the bathroom.  He poured champagne over my problems… Mimosas in the bathtub… and a joint.  He sat on the toilet-seat and talked to me through the curtain.  He could not understand why I was still languishing over Mr. Mister.  He used the phrase “fat Irishman” more than I liked, but I understood it was his hurt pride talking.  If he was going to be left for someone else, he would have hoped for someone of higher standards… With more money than him, better looking than him… all of the features that Rolex most valued.

There was no question that the sex had not meant anything to either of us, except to remind us of how little chemistry we shared in bed.  Rolex was simply trying to be helpful.

I straightened myself out enough to load my car and drive out to another camping Festival just before dusk.  There I was nearly in tears as my friends greeted me.  Jube was the first one to grab me.  She put a beer in my hand and placed me in a lawn chair, informing me that I would be camping in her tent.

Mr. Mister found me too.  He took me aside and simply told me to not kill myself.  At that moment, it never struck me that he was afraid for me… I simply felt rejected.

That night, our one other interaction happened when Mister came up to our campsite to smoke a bowl… In the pitch black darkness, I saw him light a lighter… my lighter- strategically purchased for its unique design, “Hey, Mister, is that a frog-prince on my lighter?”

“No… It’s a frog…. duke.”  He made an attempt to joke and returned it.

…I danced and drank… and at one point a random guy tried to dance with me- When the music stopped, he asked me to take a “walk in the woods” with him.  I brushed him off.  What a weirdo… If he only knew what trouble I was!

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A few weeks later, Jube and I carpooled and shared a tent at another camp out festival.  Mr. Mister was ignoring me all day.  Then when night came, he was asking Jube to let him into our tent.  She was saying no when I wanted to say yes, but he was not asking me.  By the time I tried to call him, he said, “I’m already driving home- goodnight.”

Chapter 6: My First Time... Solo

I host an open mic.  It is a gig that I enjoy- I get to encourage everyone to feel welcome and talk to one another- Push people to play music they have only rehearsed at home, perhaps only alone.  Playing on a stage, with a PA system, with an audience- it changes something.  It makes the experience real.  It forces the player to finish, to not give up and apologize for every little mistake.  The performance happens as it will, and the more the player owns it- perfect or full of flaws, the more authentic it is.  I have seen fantastic players grit their teeth through a well played set and novice players who grin and put on a show despite many errors… I would choose to dance and smile at the latter rather than sit and praise the skills of the former.  Why would you do something you don’t enjoy and ask others to enjoy it vicariously?

The first open mic I performed at solo was Lickety Split.  I walked into a crowded bar alone.  I had just left my first Reiki session with my friend Ananda.  It was not planned.  I had a sudden gumption to do it, and I knew better than to waste it.

I had learned how this worked from hanging out at McGillicuddy’s in Ardmore and the Grape Room in Manayunk.  First step, you ask who is hosting.  Second step, put your name on the list.  Kelvin, a slender blonde Brit was the host.  A charmer, he was slipping in and out of the crowd, making everyone in the room feel like a million bucks.  I sheepishly gave him the firmest handshake I could muster and asked him if he could slip me in for one tune.  He obliged.

I barely remember the performance.  Did I remember all the lyrics?  Did the G minor ring out?  What I do remember is Kelvin yelling, “One more!”  I could not oblige.  I only knew how to play that one song, the first song I had written.  And afterwards, a now familiar surge of energy and pride sprouted inside of me.  I ran to my car and flew down to a second open mic.

At Tritone, I ran into friends I recognized from the burbs; Marc, Tamara, Cooper.  They were playing covers with a pick-up female singer.  She was dressed for the occasion; dolled up in a white frock, hair done up, crisp clean makeup.  I sat nervously awaiting a turn.  At some point, they called out “Natural Woman”.  I leaped to the stage and sang with this sophisticated looking lady.  I was going for broke- I had no shame left to burden me from trying.  It was not a good performance.  I could not remember the lyrics.  At some point, I recall my co-singer cuing me to let the band solo.  It taught me a lesson I will never forget- Remember, you are just another instrument, another element of this miraculous creation called music… Just another star in the sky, not the moon.

When the band took a break, it was my turn.  No one had an acoustic guitar.  This was my first performance with an electric guitar… amazing.  The response of the strings, the sound.  I was paying more attention to listening to this new contraption in my hands than performing.

They cheered for me.  Then I quickly said goodbye and ran to my car… I had to work in the morning, and it was late.  Perhaps I was distracted by all the excitement.  It was not until I was driving down the street that I realized I felt an unexpected breeze.  I looked back to see one of my windows had been shattered.  A quick inventory of my belongings revealed that my work bag had been taken, my laptop, my notebook.  I pulled over, petrified.

My insurance company only told me that my policy did not cover a break-in.  I tried the police.  They took a report over the phone.  Rattled, with no one to call for comfort, I phoned my brother, Sam, in Washington D.C.  He talked to me the entire drive home.  I felt so exposed.  So violated.  Did I make a mistake?  Did I do something wrong?  Sometimes it is hard to accept that things just happen.  It was a hard fall, given how high the evening’s events had me feeling.

It did not deter me.  In the following months, I went to open mics across the city.  I wrote more tunes.  I played every day.  The soft puffy pads of my left fingertips turned into flat callous hammers.  I poured my broken heart out into lyrics of hope and melodies of cheer.  Within weeks, there was not a venue I could walk into without seeing a familiar face, smiling to greet me, happy to hear me play.  Within months, I was booking my first gigs.  Suddenly, what had seemed so impossible was all so probable...

My First Song

"Take Care”

I wanna take care of you- if you want me to

You could call me up late, and ask me out on a date

I’d buy you some booze and be your muse

We could stay up ’til dawn, singing our songs

But I don’t know what to do, if you don’t feel it too

-So, if you wanna roam, I won’t ask you home- with me

and maybe there’ll come a day, when you’ll wanna stay- with me- again

Until I know what’s true, I’ll just write more songs for you

I wanna be your everything, when I hear you sing

You could get me a drink and ask me what I think

and after a few, I’d dance close to you

We could go race in our cars, go stare up at the stars

But I don’t know what to do, if you don’t feel it too

-So, if you wanna roam, I won’t ask you home- with me

and maybe there’ll come a day, when you’ll wanna stay- with me- again

Until I know what’s true, I’ll just write more songs for you

So, if you wanna roam, I won’t ask you home -with me

And maybe there’ll come a day, when you’ll wanna stay -with -again…

’cause I don’t know how I feel, and I don’t know what is real

The only thing I know is true, I just wanna take care of you.

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To save him the bother of transporting it, Charlie opted to leave a guitar at my apartment.

I was working at the nursing home the day “Take Care” came to me.  I was sitting with a patient, waiting for her breathing treatment to conclude.  One of my favorites to visit, she had a trache in her neck, following surgery and chemo treatments for laryngeal cancer.  I was thinking of Mr. Mister, of the long list of wifely duties I wanted to fulfill for him; I want to wash your dishes, grant your wishes.  I want to wash your clothes and hold you close.

The melody was loud and clear in my mind.  I went home humming, ready to tackle the guitar.  I pulled up a chord chart and played each until I found corresponding notes.  In less than an hour, I had my first song -complete.

...It felt like being naked, singing these words... humbling myself.  I did not know who knew what.  Did everyone think I was a lying, cheating tramp?  A crazy woman who kicked down doors?  I had no reason left to be afraid to put myself on stage... "All the world's a stage".

Disconnect

“Disconnect”

Don’t come say hi, and when you leave don’t bother saying bye

You could stay

Just smile and stare- don't stop and question if you really care

You could stay- just for the moment, just for the day 

I waited at the door, didn’t mean to ask for more

They only see your skin- They can't see where you end or you begin

Don't run away- just for the moment for the day...

I waited at the door, didn’t mean to ask for more

 Just smile and stare- don't stop and question if you really care

Let's run away- just for the moment, just for the day... 

Charlie had been playing this diddy for weeks, pushing me to write on it.  Although I tried to vocalize, no words were coming… Until one night, we were all at the open mic.  Mr. Mister was flirting his way around the bar.  I stood at the door, hopeful, but he did not seem interested.  Hurt, I let Charlie drive me home.  By the time we got back to my apartment, the tears were falling.  Charlie picked up the guitar, and before I knew it, the song wrong itself.

Minutes later, my phone would ring.  Mr. Mister.

“Don’t answer it,” Charlie warned me.

“Of course, I’m going to answer it.”

That night the three of us shared a bottle of whiskey and played board games.  Mr. Mister slept in my bed.  Charlie slept on my couch.

I never asked whether Mr. Mister and Charlie discussed my songwriting.  I told myself it didn’t matter what inspired “Disconnect”… The more I let such thoughts linger on my mind, the less I wanted to perform the song.

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One night at the Pub open mic a stranger was playing standards... His technique was clean, his voice charming.  I took the initiative to sing harmonies with him on more than one tune.  It was fun... I did not think of it as flirting, but soon I found him next to me at the bar.

I was so naive.  I was still processing the whole door-kicking event... and here I was, at Mr. Mister's open mic, with this handsome stranger charming me.

Jube gave me a Dum Dum lollipop... It was still in my mouth, when the stranger went in for a kiss.  No spark.  Pure confusion and surprise.  What now?  I hesitantly took the confection out of my mouth and let him plant his lips on me again.  Again, nothing.

...As he left that night, he said to me, "You should be more impulsive."

"Impulsive?  I just kicked in a guy's door..."

...Later Mr. Mister would inform me the stranger was Bethie's musical crush.  The one she had told me about.  The one who had broken her heart.

I panicked and called her to confess, to assure her- had I known... and even if he had not been who he was... Never...

One can never be too careful.  It is a small world.