I’ve never been a car guy. I can appreciate a nice ride, but they have never been my passion. Contrary to the title of this post, this isn’t going to be about cars.
This morning, as I walked towards the train station, I saw someone making a turn in an unusual-looking car. This car may have been cool at one point, but today it just looks a bit odd. A wannabe cool car of sorts. However, for some reason, it reminded me of her red car, her Mustang GT.
That summer was one of the most exciting and intense periods of my life. I first saw her at Webster Hall towards the end of the night. I remember looking at her, and we had locked eyes a few times before this moment. She was very beautiful. I started moving closer, trying to work my way in slowly. Then I noticed someone else approaching. I felt a need to act. We had made eye contact; there was something between us.
At that point, I decided that the time for subtlety was over. I decided to take a direct approach. Time was of the essence as it was already late, and I wasn’t going to let this moment slip away without a clear indication from her.
Well, it turns out that I did have a chance. We connected that night, and so began what would be both a high and low point in my life. I still carry the marks that our makeshift relationship left on me. However, recalling those very first moments of meeting her, I also remember the natural high and excitement I felt in sharing my life with her.
She was stunningly beautiful, elegant, such a lady; I was deeply in love. Well, at the time, I thought I was. What is love, though, really? Is it the excitement of counting the moments spent next to her? Is it the sheer joy of intently looking into her eyes as we engaged in meaningful conversations? Is it the pleasure of breathing in, knowing her scent will stay with you long after she has gone? Is it being close to her, feeling her presence, sharing long, tender moments? I don’t know what love is, but I couldn’t get enough of her; I was fully, 100 percent invested. This was the beginning of the high point.
And that’s how we started.
The thing is, like many intense connections, this one eventually became painful. I’m not sure when things began to change, but at some point, the dynamic shifted away from what I had hoped for. I still recall the decisive moment. It was over a holiday weekend; she promised to spend that whole weekend with me. However, she never showed. She never called. This was the beginning of the low point.
I’ve written many songs and poems over the years about love and loss. Interestingly, she has never been the direct inspiration for any of them. After that weekend, I cried, I reached out, I pleaded, but things had already changed between us. I traveled to her university, a three-hour train ride from where I lived. I walked in the rain and snow, hoping to see her. She did spend some time with me. I still remember sitting in a cafeteria, eyes swollen from tears, my face raw from wiping them away. I could sense a change between us, a distance that had grown. The loss was painful, but I eventually found my way through it. Like Lisa Lisa said, “I’m all cried out.” I had nothing left inside to give her, not even one line in a song.
And that’s how we ended.
To tell our entire story would take too long, and I’m not sure that I should share such personal details of a story that is not solely mine. However, that is how I entered and exited one of the most intense, emotionally charged periods of my life.
Back then, she drove a Mustang GT, and seeing this unusual car at 5:30 a.m. this morning reminded me of her car and our time together.
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