When He Sang

How much farther can you tread for a love that's been tested by great tides so many times over?

He stood there on the stage that night. Guitar slung casually over his shoulders, quite used to the giddy, excited ring of fans gathering in just to see him perform. His freshly-shaven face gave his usual dirty look a rebirth, which caused the women to swoon at him all the more.

Why did he have to be so handsome? What lucky coincidence must it have been for a traveling tourist such as I, to have come at such a timely hour in Sydney and have myself caught in the arms of a local singer who did gigs in a middle-class resto bar every weekend and occasional guesting on lazy days when the buzz is low. Who would've thought that after almost two years of being together, he'd be sought after talent scouts and recording companies and be a step ahead toward stardom? No one saw it coming. But maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind, I did.

All leathered up - from his slick combat boots to his black jacket. One could easily distinguish the patching on the left sleeve I did myself. The beaded borders and the ethereal Monarch butterfly displayed on the center, and fixated on one end is a cartooned face of a koala. Oh, how they refused to blend in with the rest of his persona! I didn't know why I chose them though, but maybe subconsciously, I did.

Every time I see the fans and the women cry as they sang to each and every one of his songs, how they seemed to bore down deep through my soul every time their eyes met mine. How they were confessing to the world their deep regard for him, and defended him at his worst. Never caring. Never failing. How I often was the bad guy in all his crises. It outright scared me - it made all my effort to be his number one supporter futile. I felt so small and insignificant. I was selfishly consumed by his attention and love that I felt as if I were drowning when I felt as though I had to share.

I guess the world was just too big a competition to even be considered to be matched up against. Chances to winning were so faint that one would get ridiculed at for even reconsidering.

Maybe that's why I had sewn them on there. Perhaps I wanted to see for myself how I appeared in the eyes of the many.

He began his song.

"Lies are like stones, they sink in...

Pull in the air you're breathing...

You can keep it inside..."

I sank back in my seat. His voice resonated in the crowded room. So calming. So captivating. For something as clear and distinct as the melody of his voice every time I hear him sing, could allow me to slowly drift back and forth and be a part of a huge ocean somewhere in the Pacific or Atlantic or perusing along the darkened halls of the star-laden galaxy, transitioning momentarily and loving every second of it.

"I wanna know love

I wanna be where you are

So show me the way

I wanna be like that

I wanna hear you call my name and not look back..."

I loved him though. Deeply and as sincerely as I could. We were inseparable and at one point, I thought I had it all together. A wonderful, fast-paced career, accumulated enough money from allowances and saved from my revenues, and surprisingly kept my romantic life at par. I was proud of him and how far he had whirled himself into something he had always sought to do. Music is my first love and it is something I am extremely connected to. When I was 9 years old, I started writing songs about totally random stuff - the sun, my mum, Amelia, this certain girl I really liked, I found myself quite early into music and song writing. He had said in one of his earlier interviews. It surprised me how much of him I still hadn't known or tried harder to discover. It seemed as though the one person who was supposed to know whatever it was that was troubling him, what made him  write and spend three hours hunched on his desk and stand up feeling accomplished, whatever it was that caused him to feel whatever he was feeling, had to know all those secondhand. It hurt because I felt betrayed, and felt alone. It hurt because people thought I didn't care at all. Truth was I did. A little too much, I suppose. Maybe that was the problem.

"I put up a fight

But now its taking its toll

I'm waiting for something to set fire

Wake up my soul..."

I cared that if I bugged him too much with strings of questions, he'd refuse to answer. I cared if I was too busy to answer his calls. I cared if I wasn't around whenever he had to perform and if he had anyone to celebrate with during the after party. I cared if he carelessly lavished himself with too much Tequila shots or vodka whenever he was sober. I cared because I knew he was lonely when we were in the balcony one night talking about constellations, disembodied geniuses, our cultural discoveries of Roman art in Chiostro del Bramante, the touching of souls - which I love, and sipping local red wine, with a lot of laughing and kissing - - He needed me more than I realized.

"When the weight is on, I feel alone

Trapped inside my flesh and bones

But if I let go of everything

The stars compose a song to sing..."

When we danced to Otis Redding, I felt like  a contemporary Andy Walsh and he was playing Duckie with the pained expressions, the fist pumps, the pelvic thrusts and the coolest mustard-yellow-blazer-and-bolo-tie ensemble ever, adding up to make a fantastic Pretty in Pink scene. He could be pretty comic and at times, melodramatic.

I remember when we'd have heated arguments about simple things that didn't even matter. How I used to think that they were good things because it made our relationship normal, to say the least.  Little bitter turns to the monotonous stretch of days. But they weren't real.

Sometimes I wish that he'd tell me what he felt. I saw it in his eyes. Every time he sang, every time we danced and kissed, every time I woke up to meet his gaze. I knew he wasn't there.

I had listened to what my friends had to say about first loves. One minute you think about how perfectly in love you are, and in another setting, you begin to grow skeptic and paranoid. It's the same with every relationship. That's completely normal. If only they'd told me about the part why they were "firsts". If only.

Always a trade. Always a compromise. Until there wasn't anything left to bargain with, because neither one us had any clue what to do. Get mad. Get angry. Make me cry. Drive me crazy. Anything to make me feel. Prove to me your love for me. Because I loved him so much that I was scared to lose him. The pain of requited and often, unrequited love. All the lies and secrecy. I was tired. I needed a validation, I needed to feel. I didn't want him to lie anymore, it has grown sickening and unbearable. I was confused. I cried.

"A song for all the faint lights

They left me stranded and lost

Reaching through empty pockets trying to pay my cost..."

We told each other everything, how we felt about us, the world, our fears which led to a night filled with unmasked tears and all rawness of emotions held back finally come out unsheltered. We spent the entire night talking. Holding nothing back. Just honesty, pure authenticity and a whole lot of it. Beautiful. So darn beautiful.

I suppose it is a natural evolution when we try to figure out what we want in life. I was on my way west on a ship while he sailed east, and I was certain that we were never to meet if we went on any further on our paths. 

We said our last goodbyes the following morning.

Parting, such a sorrow. Arrivederci. 

. . . . .

It is 5:45 and the tangerine hue of the horizon stretched before me is breathtaking. I never fail to marvel at it every morning I wake up.

I’d often sit on my balcony listening to Otis Redding on lazy Saturdays although I admittedly crave to take a sip on that local red wine. I can finally play a song or two on my guitar which grows on me as a new hobby. 

I heard you decided not to renew your contract and became a producer instead, making a good deal out of yourself. You had told me that this was what you wanted to be the last night we had spent together, and I am wishing you all the best in your path to self-fulfillment.

Australia is so far away. A pat on the back would've done well if I could.

I’ve found solace and comfort, as closer to home three years later, in the province of Trento in the industrial northern area of Italy. In love with life and my fast-paced career. Fortunately, I managed to keep my romantic life at par.

He's a wonderful man who I can say, really likes me. Well, maybe a bit too much. I guess you can say that I'm his Amelia where the only difference lies in honesty, the terror confession brings and the shared interest of the heart.

I didn't need to see what I looked like in the eyes of the many, though. I guess that was the biggest difference.

You were a gem that I only had but never owned, a song that made the sweetest chain of melodies and yet often the harshest. When you left, your melody lingered. It quieted when he came. We sang together as our voices left the world and echoed in the universe �" to the stars and the planets. Every word, chorus and every verse. Better than any music that I’ve heard.

I'm writing a piece of our story. Maybe because I can't forget about it, or because I fear that I might. Certain events in our lives are too precious to lose and along with the people who've made them so. Events which allowed our souls to connect with something to the extreme, and people whom we've touched our souls with. And that to me is love. Nothing else can make us doubt and trust ourselves as much as it does.

Author's Note

The lyrics to the song is credited to Steve Moakler. I got ideas from various writers for the story and this is entirely fictional.
Please tell me what you think :)

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

There's a certain pain in this story. A sadness.
"Just honesty, pure authenticity and a whole lot of it. Beautiful. So darn beautiful."
Beautifully written. Thanks for sharing. :)