You know that feeling in your guts when someone you like a lot moves far away, or maybe you wont see that special friend until next year at camp or whatever? Yeah, I have that feeling right now. It’s not a total dirge, because there is a future, just not a now. I am surprised when I feel this way because I thought my heart was pretty toughed up after all these years, but I can’t ignore the symptoms,
I’m kind of heart broken a little bit…
OK, sorry. Her name is Lori (it’s not really, but let’s just say it is) and she lives faraway in another city and doesn’t come to Austin much. She’s petite to say the least but not in an anorexic way. She’s curvy luxuriousness with pristine white skin and cut, classical features. She has as close to an Asian look a part Cherokee can achieve. She’s amazing, a thing of beauty.
Seriously though, this isn’t about her it’s about this feeling. The bitter sweet sensation that makes food seem uninteresting and you can’t fully focus on anything. The only thing one can do is go to a record store and aimlessly wander through the rows of vinyl reminiscing about certain songs or other soothing effects in that, “Why is this Berlin record making me want to cry?” kind of way. So there I was at Cheapo’s (local used music emporium here in Austin, one could live there) riffling through the dusty records in Thursday’s new arrival bin. There was some good stuff, and obviously coming across a classic Queen, Kiss or Ozzie record with the hilarious and over the top rock and roll album covers can momentarily distract from the warm gnaw in the core of my stomach.
I kept riffling through the vinyl and checking out the other late night record store patrons and employees. Almost everyone was in various shades of black clothing including me, in solid black. There was even a cop shopping for music and his uniform was black. Anyway, I’m lost in the ambiance and space and memories, hey there’s a Richard Pryor record! And then I came across a copy of the soundtrack to the film “Manhattan”.
Gershwin on vinyl. $3.99. Perfect. I only had six dollars in my pocket and I had no plans of buying anything, but you would have probably done the same thing. Or you might have bought the Richard Pryor record, I actually don’t know what you would have done but I went with Gershwin.
She’s safely home now after the weekend in Austin. A few hours after she left I found a little black hoodie she wore at my apartment. A relic, proof, it was real. Did she leave it on purpose? Maybe. I hope so. Girls do that right? Maybe she will come back to get it?
So here I am with the proverbial glass of red wine listening to my new record and reveling in the dulcet tones of the wood winds, piano, and violin. The music is actually more stirring than I expected as images of the 80′s New York skyline flash across the music, my recollections from that amazing and poignant movie. I’m glad I stumbled upon this sound track tonight.
I just went over to the faded gray black hoodie lying on my bed and it still holds her sweet scent.
So that’s it. She’s gone away now and all I can do is hope I’ll see her again next summer at camp. Until then I don’t know what to do. Write letters maybe? Not to go way off topic here, but with all the hype about how much more connected we all are because of technology is only sort of true. Emails, texts, and phone calls are of no use in this situation. Part of the tumult involved in love and heartbreak is that there is no substitute for proximity, being close together and feeling very comfortable about it. That’s the rare thing. You can’t put that on the internet. That’s probably what the left behind hoodie is for. Girls are smart.
I’ll be OK, and I’ve now moved on, listening to Kraftwerk’s 1978 classic work, “Man Machine”. So I’m making some progress in the musical gloom department. How I met “Lori” and and our unique history is another story unto itself, but that’s all I can write for now. I’m weak with hunger and the thought of food is impossible. I’m trying not to go back to smoking. So tomorrow if you see me in the philosophy or poetry section of the used book store know I’m hurting a little bit on the inside and feel free to invite me for a coffee or preferably a beer or something, because you really can’t cry into coffee. That would be gross.
