***The Roots Is The Toots-The Music That Got The Generation Of ’68 Through The 1950s Red Scare Cold War Night-Elvis’s Are You Lonesome Tonight

 

…he wondered, truly wondered whether she missed him, missed her walking daddy tonight after all the slow meaningless time that had passed these past few months since their over-heated short love affair had gone down in flames almost as quickly as it had started.  (That walking daddy moniker was a little term of endearment that she tagged him with after they had, well, done the “do the do” and she though that she had him reined in, reined him in with kisses and a few little special things that he liked, and that she knew he liked even before he told her that he did). He did not really believe that she did, did miss him, she was not built that way, and he knew from the first, and she made the fact abundantly clear and with examples (citing chapter and verse ex-husbands and lovers) in all their conversations that once she was done with a man that was that and she moved on, maybe to the next man, maybe just to lick her wounds. Still he took a ticket, took a chance that he would be, what did she call him, oh yeah, her “forever” man (and a few short months later her “never” man).  Yeah, so no question he was as sure as a man could be, a man who no longer was on speaking terms with her, that she did not miss him.

 

He wondered too whether she was lonesome tonight for her walking daddy, a very different proposition than whether she missed him. He was not sure on that score, although he thought she might. See even if she was through with a man, had moved on the way she put the fact in those same conversations mentioned above they had about her way with men, she was as likely to be licking her wounds as looking for another man. As likely to be filled with solitary sadness as out on the town, out with another man. That is where those two marriages and many love affairs came in, came in and softened rather than hardened her to life’s romantic ups and downs. She mentioned that she had a hard time letting go, letting the past fade and that it took her a long time to get over a man once they were through. How did she put it one night, oh yeah, she was fast to love a man when he got under her skin and slow to forget him (that fast love had been her way with him in their whirlwind love affair not giving him time to breathe before trying to plan their future unto infinity after about a month). Yeah, she might be lonesome tonight but let me tell you what he told me one night when we were sipping white wines at a Boston bar, tell you some details and you figure the damn thing out.      

 

He had met her sitting in a bar in Cambridge, a rock and roll bar, an oldies but goodies bar that he frequented when he needed to hear Elvis, Chuck, Bo, or some rockabilly beat after some hard case was done or he just needed to blow off steam when some appeals case was slipping away for lack of presentable issues that could win. Some nights, like this night, he wound up just slugging quarters in the juke-box, others, mainly weekend nights listening to a live band, The Rockin’ Ramrods,  covering the classics, when he noticed that she looked very familiar in a long ago way. After he slid down the row of barstools to get beside her he had mentioned that fact to her as a come-on and bought her a drink (a glass of red wine which she loved, loved to perdition as he would find out) they spent the next several minutes trying to figure where that might have been. Work, no, the Cape, no, College, no, and so on. 

 

Strangely they found out once they discussed where they had grown up that the link had been  that they had gone to the same high school together, North Adamsville High, located on the South Shore of Boston although they had not known each other, had not had any of the same classes, back then (but since they had also gone to the same junior high school they agreed later after they were “smitten” with each other, her term, and wanted to make some symbolic “written in the wind” closeness count they must have been in the same space at some point if only the gym, auditorium or cafeteria). That got them cutting up old torches that night for a while, well, a long while since they closed the bar that night. They agreed that they had some common interests and that they should continue the conversation further via e-mail and cellphone. See, she lived up in New Hampshire in a town outside of Manchester, was a professor at the state university and had been in Cambridge to attend a conference at Harvard so getting together soon in person with her schedule was problematic.

 

So for a while, a few weeks, they carried on an e-mail/cellphone correspondence. Both were however struck by the number of things they had in common, things from childhood like growing up poor, growing up in hostile and dangerous family environments, growing up insecure and with nothing to guide them. Moreover they found that they had many similar teenage angst and alienation episodes in high school in common as well as current political and academic interests. Both agreed that they should meet again in person since they had already “met” in high school (somehow in the rush of things they discounted that they had really met in Cambridge in a bar, go figure).

 

And so they met again, met many times, had many dinners and did other things together before they agreed to meet at a hotel in New Hampshire to see if they had a spark that way. Well you know they did since otherwise there would be no story to tell. Yes, they, he and she, were both smitten, both felt very comfortable with each other and were heading forward with eyes open. Along the way they had discussed their two each marriages, their serious love affairs and their attitudes toward relationships. At those times she would emphasize her take on men, her expectations and her limitations. She also wanted him to come stay with her in New Hampshire and leave Boston. He although not as well formed in his take on their relationship did likewise explain his two marriages and major love affairs, although he balked at leaving the city for the Podunk country up north as he called her place. So yes both sets of eyes were open, open wide.

 

She pulled the hammer down, pulled it down early. Within a couple of months she spoke of love, of living together, of sailing out into the sunset together. He, slower on the uptake, slower having been severely burned in his last marriage was a bit bewildered by her speedy emotional attachment to him. They went on a couple of trips together, had some good times, had some rocky times too when she tried to rein him in. He wasn’t afraid to commit exactly (well maybe he had a little “cold feet” problem but not bad for him) as much as he wanted the thing to develop naturally, give him time to breathe although he already said that air to breathe thing didn’t he, there always seemed to be an air of suffocation every time she got on her high horse, got her wanting habits on, got the best of him sometimes.

 

Then he made his fatal mistake, or rather  series of mistakes, starting with strong words one night at dinner when they both had had a bit too much to drink and she was going on and on. He got snappy, told her they needed to slow down and enjoy each other. She responded with a blast but they were able to kiss and make up that night. The real mistake though was one time after they had not seen each other for a week or so he sent her an e-mail speaking in sorrow of the drift of their recent relationship and he wanted the spark back that had go them going. She exploded at that seeing that as a rebuke to her rather than as what he thought was a plaintive love letter. What did she call it, oh yeah, a closing argument, a damn lawyer’s closing argument (the “damn” part a result of having been married to a lawyer the first time out). They agreed to meet at a neutral restaurant to discuss the matter.

 

When he thought about it later he could see where she had prepared to be confrontational or least prepared to force the issue because the first words out of her mouth were an ultimatum-come live with her or the affair was over. The exchange got heated as she drank more wine (he did not drink that night having learned a lesson from the last session). She said something that when we talked he could not for  the life of him remember but they were fighting words. He exploded saying “I don’t need this,” throwing money on the table and storming out. That was the last he saw of her.  Oh sure the next day he tried to call, no answer. Later that day he got a message on his voicemail from her giving her walking daddy his walking papers. She told him not to call, not to write as she would not respond. He never did.

 

 

What he did do seriously in the few weeks after their break-up, what he was doing this tonight he spoke of to me as well as months later when he fretted over what had gone wrong, was think through how it could have played out differently. Did that blame game in order to curb his own lonesomeness as he replayed their short affair, as he tried to try to figure out something that had bothered him since that fierce parting. No, not about the specific details of what had caused his downfall, although he was still perplexed about why his concern about their present situation and his anger at that last meeting over her ultimatum should have been the irretrievable cause. He would accept that, had to accept that the way she perceived the situation those were the causes of his downfall pure and simple. He didn’t like it but he could see where what she said in her voicemail message that she could never see him in the old way, the way she had in the beginning of their affair when their love flamed, precluded any future romantic relationship. 

 

What he thought about mostly though concerned one point-how could two intelligent,  worldly people, who individually had many strong and powerful inner resources, not figure a way to avoid letting their fragile relationship blow away in the wind, blow away without a trace after many professions of desire, devotion and fidelity. He fretted over how little energy they had devoted to using some of those personal inner resources in order to build the foundations of a strong relationship. He had been willing to take his fair share of the blame for his “cold feet” which had him, more often than not, attempting to walk away from not toward her. That last marriage had damaged him more than he had thought and it had still colored his worldview on intimacy, on commitment, no question. That walking away as they got closer, as she started to get under his skin, always seemed strongest as he left her after some bad days when she was pushing him hard. Or when he thought the whole thing was hopeless since they lived too far away from each other to compromise on a living arrangement. Yeah, he would take his fair share of blame on that.

 

She infuriated him though with her interminable future plans while disregarding the present, although he could not speak for her and whether she believed his house of card blown in the wind idea about what had happened. She had plans for them to go to live in California when they retired, deemed it mandatory that he spent a certain number of days up in New Hampshire even while he had pressing business to take care of in Boston, but best, best as an example, was that she had their next Christmas and New Year already mapped out in March. All the time not paying attention to the drift of the tempo of their day to day relationship where he was, frankly, unhappy, very unhappy. In the end he was shocked by how little there had been to hold them together in a serious crisis which he conceded or would have conceded if she had ever decided to talk to him again was a serious crisis. Now that he thought about it he told me, no, whether she had a new walking daddy or not (or whatever new moniker she would make up for him) she would not be lonesome tonight.