Glitter in the Knowing

I’ve told part of the story, but I can’t leave any story untold. I guess it started way back on the original Isbell fan page. Someone would post about the meaning of a song or a personal analysis of a lyric and since that was sort of my first love, I almost always join in to add my take. Sometimes I feel like I hit it pretty square and sometimes I learn all sorts of new things. Well, a few people seemed to like what I wrote, and one thing led to another, and I eventually shared my blog on the page with all of those people. It’s hard to open up something so personal to strangers from the internet, but these people already felt more like friends than most of the people I’d known my whole life. I shared the link to a music review. Then I shared the link to this.

It was  very personal, very raw post. But I went bravely ahead. And I got a response. One I never anticipated. From a guy on the fan page. He wrote “I really appreciate your candor in this. I saw you mention your blog on the JI page and made a note to work back to it; I always enjoy the quality of your discourse on there. Without feedback it can sometimes feel like shouting down a well, so I just wanted to let you know I was affected by this piece. Be well and listen to Jason Isbell. -Nikola”

I never remembered this until after we started dating. But after, I went back to read this and within two lines, I knew it was him. Had it been unsigned, I’d have known. He’d been reading what I posted on the page and then read this. And it moved him. My writing, not my eyes or my height or my legs or whatever it is that men see when they look at me, but the real me. He liked my writing. That’s never happened before. We would occasionally post back and forth in the same thread on the page and he seemed…well written, but more than that, very cautious. I wondered what that meant.

The week before Nashville last year, I sent out a whole pile of messages to see who would be where and one was to him. I apparently flattered him when I mentioned that he was also a writer and that I’d really been interested in learning more about his writing. I said I looked forward to meeting him. I think he even said he blushed. He said he’d be joining our group for dinner, just him. I looked forward to it.

Around that time, someone from the page messaged me about an extra ticket I had. I told her it was hers if she wanted it. Then she began to question me about Nikola. I found it strange, but wrote it off. She seemed to like him, but the match wasn’t practical, she said. I said that I was just coming out of something bad and wasn’t even remotely interested in dating. And that was absolutely true. That was that.

Nashville and dinner came around. Jean met us for dinner. I knew she lived in Milwaukee, as did Nikola. They were new friends so I mentioned to her that he was supposed to come to dinner and I said “I think he’s interested in my writing.” He’d commented a time or two on my blogs and in our various fan pages when I would analyze a song or an idea. He writes too and has a talent in candor. In what I’ve come to know as a very Jean way of doing things, she turned her head, tilted her chin down, raised her eyebrows, looked over her glasses at me with these shrewd blue eyes and said “He’s interested in more than that.” I must have blushed vividly and I know I waved off the idea. He’d never even flirted with me. We’d barely even really had a conversation. I thought nothing of it.

We got to the show; I found my seat and a large cup of red wine. We saw Amanda Shires open for the band. She’s a tiny hurricane. She is what Shakespeare was talking about when he wrote “Though she be but small, she is fierce.” I wandered out into the crowded lobby during the intermission to see if I ran across any more new faces. I’m tall, I have rather distinctive curly hair, so I stand out in crowd and it helps people sort of rally together. That may be my favorite part about being entirely too big for most rooms.

It was crowded and there were a few people gathered around me, chatting and meeting. I felt a light hand on my shoulder to my left and I turned around to see Nikola. My heart skipped. I remember thinking he was taller than I expected, and far more handsome than I expected. And I remember thinking that the room got quiet for some reason. All I could see was him in the golden light of that lobby. All of that in a split second. I must have had quite the stricken expression on my face because his broke into the biggest grin. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. We spoke briefly, but it felt strange to put this man with the guy from the internet and despite the margarita, and the Patrón, and the wine, I felt uncomfortable. I thought maybe it was the wine or the magic of the place, or the way my heart was flying from the souls around me and the music in my heart that caused my reaction to him. I don’t react that way to men. And here I was falling apart from a man. I wanted to stay there, close enough to touch him.  I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. He scared me. The way I reacted scared me. Amanda had sung “Harmless” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IN94D04r_Tw and I was humming it to myself subconsciously, like I do when I’m happy. In more recent months, it seems pretty perfect. “There was a sword in my drink. Everything’s a sign, if you want it to be. And you want it to be.” It was time to get back to the show, so I side-hugged him and he excused himself.

The night went beautifully. The music of my favorite band filled me up, despite being a little broken. I knew that night I’d be okay. The next morning, I messaged Nikola to ask if he’d make it to the dinner that night. He said yes and I said that I’d love to see him again and that maybe even he could sit beside me so we could talk. He didn’t make it. Little did I know, he was just starting to see a woman. He stayed away from me because lightning struck us both and he did what a good man does because he is a good man. He stayed away. But to me, it felt like he just didn’t find me nearly as interesting in person as he did on the internet. I wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t possibly like my writing and like the person attached to it. No man likes both. I had accepted that as how my life was intended to be.

I went home after that weekend steeled against the coming weeks. My people helped me make it through. I did call my Mama and tell her about the weekend. I told her about meeting a man. She never remembers anything, but months later, she remembered me talking about him. I later told Nikola the truth: that I expected him to not be so tall and not so “goddamn good-looking.” I still didn’t know he was seeing someone. I don’t play ball on another woman’s diamond. The moment I found out, I retracted my interaction with him to platonic immediately.

Somewhere in all of this, I posted a query on Facebook to have people prompt me to introduce them in a novel.  As a writer, I suspected that he may not be able to resist. And I was right. I gave him this “To know Nikola is to know a dark bird—a sparrow or a dove, off-color. He’s quiet and gentle, but can look right into you, penetratingly. He’s the man who taps you on the shoulder in a crowd and as you turn to look up at him, taller than perhaps expected, sharp, probing, acute eyes assessing in a flash before he smiles. Like a bird he’s tidy, a dark shock of hair, olive skin, and eyes dark and beautiful. He’s hard to forget if for no reason than the element of surprise.” Of course, he loved it and said that a few friends said it checked out. I stand by that description to this day. He’s my bird.”

Over the winter, things kind of devolved and due to circumstances around who he was seeing, he blocked me from Facebook without so much as a “fuck off” (not that he would ever say that to me). I was “ghosted” as the kids would say, by a grown man.  I was hurt, but I understood. He did what he did because he’s a good man, if somewhat fragile. He did what he did because she did not care for me one bit. I can’t say that I blame her. It was the same woman who had questioned me about him months before. I still had no intentions at all toward him, beyond writing and music and friendship.  Jean told me at some point during this that she thought I liked him more than he liked me. I guess I just sort of radiated it.

I didn’t press the issue, but I never do. Fear of rejection is strong in this one, even for friends. If you read my previous blog post, you know that I planned to go to Milwaukee in July for Summerfest to see the same wonderful musicians with a group of the same wonderful people. When he found out that I was coming up, he unblocked me and tentatively reached out. He’d split up with the woman he was seeing. She was particularly cruel to him. To this day, I want to scratch her eyes out for treating him the way she did. You don’t leave a person because of something beyond their control. If it’s a behavior, there can be a lie in the sand, but if it’s an unchangeable part of who someone is, you don’t get to leave the moment you both find out.

He apologized and explained himself. He’d made a mistake, but we all do. I told him I looked forward to seeing him. His birthday was that weekend, and I told him that my presence was his present. That amused him. I also decided that I’d bring him my extra copy of a well-loved book, by a well-loved author specializing in sardonic humor. Something about me still made him uneasy and he created a little distance again. I understand. I’m intense. Especially for the fragile.

I ran the annual Peachtree Road Race and flew to Milwaukee the evening of the 4^th. There was magic in the air. I needed a little magic. The next day, he walked in Jean’s door without knocking and he turned to face me, a sort of head down, sheepish look on his face and tentative smile. He’s an anxious creature and I could see it all over his face. But it was like lightning again. And when lightning strikes twice, you don’t let it pass you by. He moved toward me and I got up and hugged him. He smelled clean and good and he was warm. And he looked good.

The show that night went well. He accompanied me on a failed quest for a Spotted Cow. But he also spoke and listened to me attentively. The way he looks at me, intense and focused—it’s magical. He told me at some point that he hears better out of his right ear, so I told him I’d always look for him on my left. And I still do. I sat beside him at the show and left only to sing “Cover Me Up” with Michelle. Even that night, I wanted to reach for his hand. But that would have been beyond my character. We went back to Jean’s and we stayed up until 4am talking about the best things in life: writing, music, love. I told him that something I’d learned is that in a relationship, you have to remind yourself that when you don’t get along, that you’re on the same side. That it’s not you against each other, it’s the two of you against a problem. That’s how you make it work.

The next day, Jean had arranged that we go on a river cruise to see Milwaukee. He hadn’t intended to go, but we talked him into it. He arrived on time and was wearing the weathered red tee I’d designed for the fan page. It looked good on him and I just half smiled and said “Nice shirt.” He practically blushed. I let him get a good look at me getting a good, appreciative look at him. I think he did blush that time, but he smiled. We sat right in the prow all together, him to my right. We talked about architecture and language and his favorite running paths in the area. The warm sun felt almost as good as the heat I could feel from his body when I turned my back to him. We both reached for the railing at about the same moment and our hands were just an inch or two apart. We both left them just like that.

Getting off the boat, he had plans, so we separated. I hugged him close, my hand on his neck. I never knew then when the last time I saw him would be the last time I saw him. By the time we got to the car, I felt his absence. I sent him a message telling him so. His response was that he was about to send me the same thing.  Butterflies. I asked if I would see him again before I went home and he said he’d try. That’s enough for me. He was running a half marathon the next day, so I understood his need to rest and focus.

I predicted his time on that race within one minute. I was pretty proud of that. He looks like he has wings on his feet when he runs. He’s beautiful and graceful and light. Like a bird. That night, The Gin Blossoms were playing Summerfest. That was formative music to me, so I wanted to go. Michelle was going home, and Jean had to “do laundry” so it was just me and Nikola. I realized an hour before he was supposed to pick me up that we were going on a date. I wore a dress. Jean offered to drop me off. I said “No, Mom, I think he’s going to pick me up.” We both laughed. I told her that I wasn’t moving to Milwaukee, but there was a branch of his company in Atlanta. He called to ask if I needed anything and that he was getting coffee before he picked me up. I told him “Just you.”

He picked me up at the door and he looked good. He always manages that. He looked a little stricken when he got a good eyeful of that dress and Jean prompted him “Doesn’t she look nice?” He’s never since failed to tell me how nice I look. I think he’s probably biased. He’d said earlier that if he got to hold my hand, it would make his birthday, which was the next day. When we got to the festival, we parked in the parking deck and were on our way out to the show. He led, and I reached forward, took his hand and stopped before we’d left the parking deck. When he realized I wasn’t just holding his hand, he turned and I kissed him. I thought it would break the tension. He kissed me as if he enjoyed it, but drew back to look at me. It was just a second and he leaned back in and kissed me. The world was just the two of us for a moment. He tasted like coffee and chocolate and his hand around mine was rough and hard. To this day, I find that impossibly sexy— his unexpected incongruities. It did not break the tension. I think I could have gone on kissing him forever.

The whole night was magical. The weather was cool and damp, and he was perfect. We walked around the festival, holding hands, kissing, enjoying people-watching, I even had a beer. We stood back from the crowd and listened to the show. I sang the songs and rested my hand on his chest, and he reached up and covered mine with his. After the show, he wanted to keep the night rolling so he took me this place called The Sugar  Maple. He kissed me in the car. I could have kept kissing him.

The place was a quiet, rather empty jazz club, decorated in smooth, curving lines and shades of red and deep yellow, polished and really lovely. I drank two beers and by the second one, he was enlightening me to the gravity of my choice. I laughed. I had a couple drinks and as a tragic lightweight, had to quit.  He folded the label from his drink into a tiny boat and left it on the bar. He excused himself for a moment and I picked up that little boat and tucked it away in my wallet. I don’t know why. To this day, I don’t know why. But when I came back across that boat, weeks later, my heart fluttered, and I sent him a picture of it.

Jean had messaged me earlier that he was welcome to stay over at her house if we were both amenable to the idea. I laughed and showed him the message. As we left the bar, it was cool enough that I was shivering, and he draped his overshirt around my shoulders when he opened the car door for me. He always opens the car door for me. And he stands when I come to the table. I never knew that a damn Yankee could have such lovely manners. He is a damn Yankee, too.

At 2am, we wandered in, me having to get up at 4 to catch my plane back to Atlanta. He offered to stay and take me to the airport. We took off our shoes and fell asleep fully-dressed on the futon, my head on his chest. Jean woke me gently at 4. He turned and said to her gravely, “This was unexpected” to which Jean replied “This was not unexpected.” I chuckled. He carried my bag and took me to the airport, me on the verge of tears the whole time, thinking this was the last time. He kissed me goodbye and I thought that was it. I held it together onto the plane, and into the bathroom. Then I lost it. I had never felt so lonely in my life.

By the time I got off the plane, he’d messaged me. By that night, I’d booked our Air BnB for the Ryman residency together this year. Three days later, he booked his first flight to Atlanta. We spent weeks talking and messaging almost constantly. And that’s been the pace we’ve set. I still wasn’t certain for a couple of weeks, but when he sent me “Bring yourself back to me unspoiled from across that lonely ocean” before I flew to Spain, I knew I wanted to make this work. And we are.

We’ve adopted a song from Amanda Shires’ new album as ours. “I can hear you thinkin' in the dark./ The noise of your nerves are all question marks./ And I/ I can't leave it alone.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zefICYNOZQ I think I’ll give it a listen right now.

He’s kind, gentle, supportive, ambitious, strong, brave, brilliant, romantic, and absolutely stunningly gorgeous. He’s more than I ever thought I’d have—more than I thought I deserved. And he adores me. We are equally unbelievable to each other. I think that’s the magic. And I think we’ll both work hard to make this work. We want it so much. And every moment with him feels like a blessing. Every late-night message and every phone call that goes on for entirely too long feels like the foundation for forever. I love him madly. If someone had told me a year ago that I would be here, feeling this way for someone who lives far away, I’d have laughed.  I’m not laughing now.