Hallelujah Ch. 02

"Good," he smiles, "those are my favorite kind. They usually make for great songs. There's a bar next door. You buy and talk, I'll drink and take notes."

"Well..." I try to find a reason, a good bullshit excuse, not to. I can't. "...why not?"

-

Seated on a creaky stool in an otherwise empty bar, on a humid Tennessee afternoon, I tell Teddy Fields my story. I don't tell it with complete accuracy, for several reasons. For one thing I'm human, and therefore I am not inborn with a total appreciation for truth. For another, time has passed. And I've spent a lot of that time reflecting, reevaluating, and ultimately trying to forget the events connecting myself, Jasmine Jones, and AJ Knox. I have insights now, as well as imperfections of memory, that only six years of obsessive thinking can bring. It's hard not to include those in the telling of the story.

Still, I tell him it as best I can remember and understand. And this is what I say:

Jasmine Jones is the love of my life. I believe that. It was true before a word ever passed between us. It was true before we ever looked into each others' eyes or touched each others' skin, or smile at one another from across a table.

It was true from the beginning.

I spent the final two years of high school studying her every movement, her face, the way her eyes would light up, almost in surprise, whenever she laughed. The way her soft brown hair curled its way around her face. The way her breasts pushed out against her shirt. I watched her secretly, from a distance, but I watched very carefully. You see, I knew that she was bound for college. She wanted to be a nurse. I was going in a far different direction. Even then, music was the driving force in my life, so I knew (with the kind of absolute certainty that only a teenager can have) that the end of our journey through public schooling was to be the last time we would ever see each other.

We belonged to very different social groups, which seemed important at the time. But she was both popular and smart, and she managed not to be confined by such trivialities. Instead, Jasmine weaved her way through the patterns of the school's social constructs like a threading needle. She created a pattern wholly her own. She made it look easy.

I, meanwhile, moved with the only group I could find that took to music with the kind of passion that I did: the strange, slightly slacker, artist group. Skinny boys and heavy girls, none of us quite awkward but all teetering on the brink of it, totally immersed in what we thought was our own brilliance. Travis was in every school play, and had a drum kit he almost understood. Sonya could draw really well, but not well enough to be lucrative. She became a veterinarian in later years. Most of us played in bands; none of us were particularly good. We were all in love with it, though.

It was one group I think Jasmine never fully understood. At the time, I don't know what I thought...that we were beneath her, I suppose. I know she didn't see it that way. But I don't think the arts played a big part in her life at that time, either, so neither did we.

I dated a few girls during those years leading up to graduation, but it was never anything I took seriously. I never invested anything in those relationships; they weren't the one I wanted.

As the final weeks of senior year wore down, my friends started pushing me to say something, to make my move for the inconquerable Jasmine Jones. After all, what harm could it do? We were all going our separate ways. It was as safe an environment as I could ever hope to have for confessing to being a stalker.

I just couldn't do it. The mere idea of her inevitable rejection tore me up. The reality of it would have been deadly.

Also, there was AJ.

AJ was another one of those chameleons. He played for the football team...I wouldn't know which position, I don't know football...and he wrote for the school newspaper. Again, I don't know anything about it. All I know is that the motherfucker dated Jasmine all through junior and senior year. People used to talk like they were already married. God, how I hated him every time I saw them together. I thought he was a spoiled shit. I'm not inclined to change that opinion, now.

But AJ had her, and she seemed to be glad for it, so I wasn't about to say anything. Also, the guy could easily have kicked my ass.

It's exactly that kind of stupidity-induced drama that teenagers get worked up about. Which is why, I suppose, all my friends decided they'd be doing me a huge favor in writing her a note and addressing it from me. I'm sure they thought that Jasmine would be bowled over by my long-hidden feelings, my barely-contained passion and genuineness, and would run away with me.

Ha.

The first I learned of this little scheme was when Travis handed the damn thing to her at lunch one day and pointed to me. That was that. She put it in her pocket and never said a word to me about it. At the time, I assumed that she'd never even read it.

How's that for a slow burn? She thought it was a note from me, and she didn't even figure it was worth reading. I played like I was relieved, but my god how I cried like a little girl that night. Harder still, as a result of this little debacle relations between my friends and I were pretty cold as the year ended. We stayed in touch, some of us still do, but it was a downer of a note to end on. Put plainly, I was furious at them and I let them know it.

Now, if you think it seems ridiculous for a thirty-one year old man to be obsessing over a girl he had a crush on as a gangly seventeen year old, I won't disagree. That would be ridiculous.

Except.

Except that, two months after graduation, Jasmine Jones called me at home.

Nashville recording had proven, then as now, to be a gentleman's club, so I'd been driving down to Murfreesboro to get some unpaid assisting hours. Occasionally, I'd get the lucky chance to record some band's demo. The place, a little and unremarkable studio called MixFix, doubled as a home theater outfit. Calling it a recording studio is being polite. Meanwhile I was sending resumes and requests every fucking where in the world, and living with my parents. Whenever anybody asked about how I was doing, I played up my successes or just plain lied. Not that man people were asking...my former friends and I were still avoiding each other.

It was early July when my mom shouted down to me that the phone was for me. I expected the voice to belong to a friend, but hoped it would be a studio calling.

"Yeah," I said as I picked up the cordless.

"Hello?" The voice was one that had never spoken to me directly, but I recognized it without hesitation. Jasmine.

I froze. Why was she calling me? Why now? I'd been trying hard not to think about her, since graduation. And this...this was so unexpected I couldn't even respond. I seem to remember just standing there with my mouth open, staring at the wall. Finally, as the silence became awkward, I said, "Um." Pretty damn smooth.

More silence. "This is Jasmine Jones. We went to school together?"

"I know. I know who you are."

"Yeah." She sounded relieved. "I was...I don't really do this, but I was wondering if you would like to, uh, hang out some time."

Part of me was terrified. Could this be a prank? I couldn't believe Jasmine was capable of such a thing, though. "Hang out?" I asked. "Us?"

She seemed confused. "Uh, yeah. Maybe have supper or...or something."

I had to run with is. I was all adrenaline, no thoughts. "Yes. Tonight!"

She giggled. "I was thinking this weekend."

"But I've already waited so long." I swear to god, I said it. I still feel a little embarrassment, today, when I think of it.

She giggled again. "Yes. Okay, yes. Do you need my address?"

"Please."

Man, I was like Harrison Ford running away from Darth Vader, getting to her house. I refused to consider that maybe this was just someone fucking with me. I think I even hummed the song that plays on the original Mario Bros. when Mario gets a star as I broke the speed limit all to hell. I mean, shit, I was still a kid.

She was sitting on her front step when I arrived, looking even better than usual. Her skin always had a nice natural brownish hue (I contrast to my parchment-like Germanic paleness), but summer's soft hand had left her tanned and fit. She smiled and waved as I approached. I knew a moment of nervous terror; what was I supposed to do? Should I turn off the car? I would sure look stupid then, if she expected to go somewhere. Do I leave the engine running? Then I would feel like a total jackass if I pulled up and sat there, and she didn't get up.

Really, I think people who consider high school the best years of their lives are absolute assholes.

Jasmine saved me from any possibility of embarrassing myself. I hadn't even finished pulling up before she jumped to her feet and ran to the passenger side of the car. Knowing her as I do now, I often wonder if she was aware of my nervousness and was doing me the kindness of trying to make things as easy as possible. See, Jasmine has a way of reading people that I find absolutely uncanny, and I certainly saw her use small gestures in a similar way later on. Sometimes it was me, sometimes it was others, but she always seemed to know just what was needed to put people at ease.

"Hey," she said as she climbed into the car. "Thanks for coming."

Thanks for coming? Was she kidding? I would have fought the German army for the chance to be next to her.

"Yeah," I said, knowing how stupid it sounded.

She watched me for a second, like she was waiting for something. Whatever it was, obviously I failed the test. I just sat there petrified. Finally, she looked at the dashboard clock and said, "Where do you want to go?"

I had nothing. My brain literally took that opportunity to delete the name of every restaurant in the area.

"Wherever sounds good to you," I offered. This was not going well.

She bit her lip. It was beautiful, and it only helped make me stupider. "I like Mexican," she offered.

Was there a Mexican restaurant nearby? There was. What was the name. Shit shit shit shit...

El P...something...El...finally I remembered.

"El Puente?"

"I've never been there. Is it any good?"

"I love it."

"Then let's go!"

Thank god.

The drive was...quiet. You'd think that I would have some sort of plan, or some great lines all ready, for all the fantasies I'd entertained over the years. Or you would at least assume that I would have made small talk for the sake of not looking like a dick. But, no. I just couldn't. I saw her watching me, several times, from the corner of my eye. I was so scared. More scared than I've ever been. So scared that when we got to the restaurant I took the keys from the ignition and set them in the cup holder. Then, I climbed out of the car, looked around at the parking lot to see how busy the place was, hit the lock, and shut the door.

It wasn't until we were being seated that I realized what I'd done. I'm pretty sure every organ in my body contracted as I realized that I had locked my keys in my car, and Jasmine fucking Jones was destined to find out.

I started sweating profusely. I could actually feel my face turning red. Tragic figure, the love-struck teenager.

I tried desperately to think. How was I going to get out of this? How could I prevent my total screw up from becoming the defining element of our little date?

Solutions were not forthcoming.

When the waitress had gone, Jasmine smiled at me across the table. She fished through her purse and pulled out...my keys.

"I wasn't sure if you needed these," she said diplomatically. "I figured maybe you have a spare in your wallet or something, but I thought I'd grab them anyway."

"Oh, uh, thanks," I said, trying not to look too pathetic. "Yeah. I do need those."

She looked at me a moment longer, still looking like she was waiting for me to say something, and finally sighed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Okay."

"Did you really write that note?"

Truth time. "No." Her shoulders fell a little bit. "My friends wrote it for me. I, uh, I was too chicken to ever tell you." I tried to smile. "I had such a crush on you."

"A...crush?" Clearly the word disappointed her.

"More than that," I said quickly. And In that split second, I finally committed to going through with it all. "I know you don't know me very well, but I tried really hard to know you. From...from where I was. I don't want you to think I'm creepy, or crazy or anything, but I wanted to know you so bad. I really believed I loved you."

"Oh. You believed it." She looked me right in the eye. "And now you know better?"

"No."

She nodded, casually. It was a gesture that seemed to say 'Well, now we've got that out of the way.'

We ordered, and again the awkward silence.

"So, uh, why...why did you ask?"

"I guess I was thinking, if you really felt...that way...about me, maybe I wouldn't mind getting to know you, too."

"Me?"

She laughed. "Well, you're kind of cute. You always seemed smart when we had classes together, and I liked how intense you were about music. Most boys, if they're excited about anything, it's football. Or cars, or guns. You wanted to create something, and I guess I thought that was kind of neat."

I was speechless. She knew so much about me. If you'd made me bet, I would have placed my money on the side that said she didn't realize I even existed in high school.

After a moment, she said, "You're not what I expected."

Ouch. "Sorry."

She didn't respond. She was looking around the room, people watching or whatever. Just not looking at me. Our food arrived, and we both started in on it. After a while, she said, "This is pretty good."

"I'm surprised you never came here with AJ," I was fishing.

She didn't respond to that.

"I like it a lot," I continued, "but none of my friends cares for it so I never get to go. I'd just take myself, but then I'm worried that I might expect myself to put out...and I'm Catholic you know."

She laughed, the kind of caught-off-guard laugh that no movie character ever does. It was a punctuated and snorting fiasco that bumped her fork against her chin and left melty cheese on it. "Shit!" she laughed harder, wiping at it.

"Sorry," I chuckled. "I shouldn't have said it. It was a lie anyway."

"You don't like this place? Or you wouldn't expect sex with yourself?"

"No, those were both true. I mean I'm not Catholic."

She laughed again.

And, simple as that, we found a groove. For the next hour, I hammed it up and she laughed until she had tears in her eyes. At the end of the night I got a kiss and a warning that I'd better call her sometime soon. I went home, smoked a joint, listened to Simon and Garfunkel's Bookends, and had the absolute greatest night's sleep of all time.

Things progressed quickly between us. I learned that she had broken up with AJ shortly after graduation. Apparently he was way too interested in thinking and talking about himself, and it finally led to a big fight. She hadn't ever said anything about the note because, while she'd already been thinking about breaking up with him when she'd gotten it, she didn't think it was fair to start something with me while still seeing him. Besides, she admitted, she'd wanted to have most of the summer as a single girl.

I was glad she got around to me, even if she could have saved me some heartache by telling me all of this when she'd first gotten the note. We just fit together. The connection was more intense, more immediate, than even I would have dreamed it might be. Soon we were seeing each other every night, and she was spending many nights over at my place.

The first time we made love was incredible. I can remember, very vividly, the feeling of her naked skin against mine as we lay together afterward. Jasmine Jones, unclothed, in my bed. I can also remember how reserved she was about sex. It wasn't a matter of being passionless. It was simply that the bold, confident, flawless Jasmine suddenly became very shy and nervous when it came to her own bare flesh. She warmed quickly to my advances, but she always needed that little moment of close contact before anything was initiated. She seemed so small, then...so in need of comforting and protecting...and that's always stayed with me. It's different from any other woman I've ever been with. It affected me.

In October I got a letter from a small studio just outside of New York, inviting me to come up and be a part of their staff. It paid dogshit, but I controlled my hours so I would be able to get a part time job on the side. I asked Jasmine to come with me. To be honest, if she'd said she didn't want to leave then I probably would have turned them down. Fortunately, even though it was still early in our relationship, she applied to start her schooling at Chatham University. We moved up there together, and I knew the most happiness any pauper ever knew. For more than six years, the world was ours and we knew it. We explored our surroundings, each other, and the pure seductive glory of independent youth.

The big dark spot on this little fairy tale was the death of both my parents, separately but within a fairly short time period. Jasmine was the only thing that helped me get through the overwhelming loss. It bonded me to her even more intensely, blurring the lines between us as individuals. I often felt that, in a very real way, she was all that I had left.

And it all fell apart. Obviously. If it hadn't, I wouldn't have had this story to tell. After completing her degree, Jasmine decided that she'd like to spend a summer back home before starting her career off. We had talked often about getting back, about reconnecting with friends and with her family, but it held little appeal to me. My parents were both gone by then, I'd never reconciled with my high school friends, and my grandfather was already living up in the New York area. He was the only family I had left, and our bi-weekly visits were too important to miss. Anyway, I was working. I couldn't take weeks at a time off. So I pussyfooted around before finally telling her she should go. Money was real tight, so she couldn't really commute, but I could probably accept life without her for a month or two so that she could see her mom and dad, and meet up with some old friends. She was grateful. Hell, she acted like it was a diamond ring Christmas present or something. I felt good about it.

I'm not entirely sure what all happened. I suppose I never will be. To be honest, I was probably too caught up in my work. I was now working with bigger and bigger acts, in better and better studios. No major label acts, yet, but some of the bigger indie acts of the era. And that's really the best scenario there is, anymore. There's a creativity and freedom to working with those acts that you never really get to have bands who need to go gold or platinum on their next release in order to keep up the pace. I have wondered if my starry-eyed wonder about work kept me from seeing the signs that something was going wrong with our relationship. If such signs existed, and I'm not convinced that they did, then I missed them.

I do know that after she left she called me often, to begin with. Then, after a few weeks, the frequency began to slowly drop. By the seventh week she was only calling once in a five day stretch. I didn't think anything of it...seven weeks is a long time to be gone, long enough that we both found new routines to lessen the loneliness of being apart. I don't remember noticing anything in the phone calls that could have been a red flag. Sometimes they were short, I guess. That's all.

So complete was my obliviousness that I came up with the idea of proposing to her when she got home. I couldn't afford much of a ring...we were pretty destitute...but I wasn't about to let that stop me.