I was standing in a restroom stall in a honky tonk bar in Houston. Staring up at the ceiling, I asked “Why?”. “It’s the hat”, said a voice. “What?”, I asked the invisible voice. I heard it again. “It’s the hat”. I walked back into the bar and found Merrill. We had only had one date and that was a whole three weeks ago. I had given up hope on us dating. Then we see each other here at Blanco’s and he seems interested. I asked him the same question I posed the bathroom ceiling. “Why?” “It’s the hat”, he said.
It was January 1999. I had been in ten weddings. Always a bridesmaid never a bride was my literal life. A friend did an intervention on me at a movie theater. She trapped me in my car and confronted me about why I was single. “You’ve got to get out more. You need to put yourself out there”. Um …. Didn’t we just go to the movies? And on Tuesdays I go to free beer mug night at Timberwolves. And I never miss a happy hour at Chuys. I guess she did have a point, though. It’s not like I was going to meet a partner at Timberwolves or Chuys. This little intervention was not inspiring. Though I appreciated her effort, I wasn’t sure I could trust her message. Instead, I came up with a plan to put some feet to my hope. I started writing in a little journal to my fictional partner. First entry, January 10, 1999: “It’s raining. I wish I could dance in the rain with you”.
Six months later I am shocked to be staring at a diamond ring on my finger. Hours before, Merrill had proposed to me in a room full of our family. Friends had been called, plans are being made and we are finally alone to revel in our excitement. It starts raining. Merrill says, “Do you want to go dance in the rain?” Sometimes also things get dark. It’s as if the universe knows seasons of tragedy. It’s in the air. It always feels more dismal, more depressing, more sad. it is the dead of winter and there are cold harsh facts in this life. And they sting especially in this season.
It’s February 1985. The Commodores just released “Nightshift”, the haunting song about Marvin Gaye’s tragic death. People magazine runs a cover story on “Teen Suicide”. I am looking into the sky trying to figure out where my brother is. What actually happens when a person dies? I cannot wrap my brain around this.
I don’t know how to explain it, but messages seem to live in the air. They’re almost audible, seeable, knowable… and yet invisible, silent, mysterious.
Embracing these kinds of moments can bring comfort even in the rawest of times. Trusting there is something happening that is bigger than we can see awakens faith. Choosing to do something secret or intimate on behalf of a dream can inflame hope.
It was 3 am on my birthday. I was up enjoying the full moon, three deer in our front yard and the silence and solitude available only in the middle of the nite. It wasn’t like it was a big birthday but something felt big. A tiny crack, a little sliver, a mini portal had opened and I felt a closeness with myself. I felt gratitude. I felt humbled. I felt some compassion. And I felt loved. By me. That felt right. And good.
I see your stories of love. And the tragedies and travesties. They swirl. I believe in the whispers. I hope you will too. Let’s make sense of them this year and see where they take us. It might lead somewhere beautiful.
Gonna be some sweet sounds …. comin down on the night shift …..
Gonna be a long nite …. it’s gonna be all right on the night shift ….
Love, Beth
