At some point he grabbed my hand and I pulled him through Suburban Station hot on the heels of MissRose who was trying hard not to miss her last train out of the city. He twisted his hand and quickly intertwined his fingers with mine and held firm. "I'd pay the $100 cab ride to spend more time in the city with you."
They both got to their trains and I stumbled my way through the empty station in search of the subway. New York City is much less scary. There are people around all night long. The Philly subway was a frightening place on Sunday. The wait for the 15 trolley, even more so.
Last Thursday night I arrived home to find a very healthy 3 inch centipede on my wall. Big and ugly and gross. It was in arm’s reach yet I walked by and proceeded about my night. I’ve heard they eat roaches you see. I let them live.
I’m wondering if it’s time for me to give up music. I feel my heart getting ready to break apart. Its a familiar feeling actually. It feels like home.
Armed with my favorite glass filled to the brim with Shiraz or Pinot Noir or perhaps a Cabernet, I sat crossed legged on my bed and opened hulu while I waited for the phone to ring. No sooner had I gotten comfortable then I saw the front few legs appear over the arm of the futon and “my buddy” tried to join me in bed. What kind of life is this? I took a deep breath and blew him down and grabbed a shoe but he disappeared.
The phone rang.
“Hi Jim Hogan! How are you?!” chuckled the familiar voice on the other end.
“The best part is that as we graduated, the music industry was officially declared dead. There was and is no way to really making a living of it anymore.”
It’s my stubborn pride that has me hanging on. I feel like moving on to the “real” world would be giving up on myself and everything I've wanted and wished for. This is all I know and love and I’m scared. As I typed that I heard my mousey friend running behind the paneled wall next to my bed. My heart sank into my belly and I realize it’s the most I’ve eaten all day.
“It would be a sin for you to give it up. You’re too good. There’s always hope that someday.....”
What good is hope?
What good is someday?
I’ve had a great life as a musician. I’ve been lucky. And I wouldn’t change a thing but maybe (and I can’t yet stomach getting rid of the “maybe”) maybe it’s time.
And there’s my friend again.... safe on the other side of the room, the top of him peeking out from behind Ani and Utah Phillips.
I haven’t done laundry since my return from my last Maryland trip. My blue jeans still smell of bonfire and whiskey and happy. Maybe that’s only because when I close my eyes I find myself back there. I wish I was wanted there more often. But I have no control over anything other than myself.
TrainStation is now smitten with me. All I did was make him laugh and get him to his train....
“What is your favorite flower?”
I’m not used to someone putting forth that kind of effort for me. Especially by going through MissRose so as to surprise me. I love flowers. I love the colors. I love their silky soft petals. I even love how they smell. But my favorite part is they never overstay their welcome. They come and go quickly and leave you with a smile and wanting more.
There is not a hint in my mind as to what’s going to happen next or where I’m going. I’ll get by with a little help from my friends.
