We met a little over a year earlier while I was on a business trip. Now, she stood at my front door with the friend that had introduced us, holding a bottle of wine.
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It was my first time in Chicago and my co-worker didn’t want me to be alone, so she insisted that her best friend keep me company. We met at a restaurant in Roscoe Village and made our way to a few bars, making a quick stop at her apartment to reassure a broken-hearted roommate. Between watered-down vodka drinks, sloppy karaoke performances and relationship melodrama, we discussed music, literature and life, three things that made our worlds go around (while her responses made my head spin).
Sometime during the evening, I casually mentioned my love of Feist and Jeff Buckley, both of which she reciprocated, adding to her spell over me. Before the evening ended, I took the Feist button off my jacket collar and put it on hers, a little gesture to commemorate the company, conversation and connection we shared that evening. I didn't think much of my crush on her, just hoped that we'd see each other again before long.
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Seeing her stand at my door after all that time turned my legs to spaghetti. Luckily, she put her arms around me just as I lost my balance, keeping me upright (two months later, I would lose my balance again in her presence, spotting her across Midway's baggage claim). We opened a bottle of wine as she handed me a couple of housewarming gifts: The Life of Pi and The Prophet. Did she bring me books because she remembered our conversation?
I prepared a mushroom risotto for dinner; it was the first time she tried chanterelles and cinnamon caps. We talked through dinner like old friends, discussing everything that came to mind. After dinner, she repositioned herself on the window sill, gazing out the window. When our friend left the room a few minutes later, I got up and joined her on the opposite end of the window. To this day, I still don’t know what inspired me to say the words that followed.
“You’re my soul mate, and I’m going to marry you one day.” I was surprised by my confidence, fully expecting rejection or shock, anything but her response.
“Do you promise?” she inquired, not missing a beat. She caught my gaze with her eyes and refused to let go.
“I promise... with all my heart." But only I heard the last four words.
She requested a pinky swear which seemed the right way to seal our promise. At this point, not only was I feeling nauseous, but my heart rate had increased dramatically. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I threw up my heart at that moment. Her friend returned to the room and I played a few songs on my record player: Jens Lekman, Jason Collett, Broken Social Scene.
Following desert, I put Jeff Buckley: Live in Chicago in the DVD player. We agreed the first song should be “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over.” We leaned closer together as Jeff sang, our hands finding each under the blanket that covered our laps. The whole time, her friend slept on the sofa.
It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's a tear that hangs inside my soul forever...
We sealed the evening with a long, soft kiss, over a year in the making. After she returned to Chicago later that week, she sent me a text message. Jeff was right: it wasn’t over.
My Life in Music #37
We met a little over a year earlier while I was on a business trip. Now, she stood at my front door with the friend that had introduced us, holding a bottle of wine.
--------
It was my first time in Chicago and my co-worker didn’t want me to be alone, so she insisted that her best friend keep me company. We met at a restaurant in Roscoe Village and made our way to a few bars, making a quick stop at her apartment to reassure a broken-hearted roommate. Between watered-down vodka drinks, sloppy karaoke performances and relationship melodrama, we discussed music, literature and life, three things that made our worlds go around (while her responses made my head spin).
Sometime during the evening, I casually mentioned my love of Feist and Jeff Buckley, both of which she reciprocated, adding to her spell over me. Before the evening ended, I took the Feist button off my jacket collar and put it on hers, a little gesture to commemorate the company, conversation and connection we shared that evening. I didn't think much of my crush on her, just hoped that we'd see each other again before long.
--------
Seeing her stand at my door after all that time turned my legs to spaghetti. Luckily, she put her arms around me just as I lost my balance, keeping me upright (two months later, I would lose my balance again in her presence, spotting her across Midway's baggage claim). We opened a bottle of wine as she handed me a couple of housewarming gifts: The Life of Pi and The Prophet. Did she bring me books because she remembered our conversation?
I prepared a mushroom risotto for dinner; it was the first time she tried chanterelles and cinnamon caps. We talked through dinner like old friends, discussing everything that came to mind. After dinner, she repositioned herself on the window sill, gazing out the window. When our friend left the room a few minutes later, I got up and joined her on the opposite end of the window. To this day, I still don’t know what inspired me to say the words that followed.
“You’re my soul mate, and I’m going to marry you one day.” I was surprised by my confidence, fully expecting rejection or shock, anything but her response.
“Do you promise?” she inquired, not missing a beat. She caught my gaze with her eyes and refused to let go.
“I promise... with all my heart." But only I heard the last four words.
She requested a pinky swear which seemed the right way to seal our promise. At this point, not only was I feeling nauseous, but my heart rate had increased dramatically. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I threw up my heart at that moment. Her friend returned to the room and I played a few songs on my record player: Jens Lekman, Jason Collett, Broken Social Scene.
Following desert, I put Jeff Buckley: Live in Chicago in the DVD player. We agreed the first song should be “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over.” We leaned closer together as Jeff sang, our hands finding each under the blanket that covered our laps. The whole time, her friend slept on the sofa.
It's never over, my kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It's never over, all my riches for her smiles when I slept so soft against her
It's never over, all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over, she's a tear that hangs inside my soul forever...
We sealed the evening with a long, soft kiss, over a year in the making. After she returned to Chicago later that week, she sent me a text message. Jeff was right: it wasn’t over.
(2005)