Neil Young was playing. The Comes a Time album. Sipping a beer, he stared into the fireplace and saw her face.
Young did that to him, the older Young. Why he kept playing those, he wasn’t sure. They always took him back to Madison where he managed a record store.
Young transported him like a time machine, back to winter walks with her, how she kept hinting at taking their relationship farther. But he’d hesitated. Why on earth he did that, he was never sure. The more time that passed the less sure he was, the more distant that experience, the more he wondered. But he’d given in. And it was wonderful.
The fire crackled. Do you remember me? was the question he asked more and more often. Her face was vividly imprinted in his memory. Was his burned into hers?
When the entire album had played, he selected Emmylou Harris. “Boulder to Birmingham” had been her favorite, but “Together Again” was the first Harris song they’d listned to together.
Funny how Emmylou Harris or almost any country music tune would take him back to those days with her. Even if the song had come out after their time together. Country music was huge in the Midwest, and it played most of the time in the record store. He’d become a fan by osmosis.
He remembered the time, after they’d consumed a box of macaroni and cheese, her favorite fast prep meal, she’d announced, out of nowhere, that if he wanted her, she was his for keeps.
“I am yours for keeps.” What an odd thing to say, he’d thought at the time.
Does she remember saying that to me? he wondered.
He sipped his beer. If he’d learned one thing about love over all these years, it was that he’d become more and more wary of counting on a relationship to last. He’d been a fool to assume the relationship with her would be for good, even after she’d said it was.
And so it began. She pledged herself, and he’d gone all in. This was it. She was the one. He’d never thought of remaining in the Midwest. Sooner or later he’d always thought about going back home to Hawai‘i.
But I love her, he’d thought at the time, and she was a Midwestern woman who wanted to remain that way. Madison born and bred. She’d never leave.
When they married, he decided, he’d stay. For her. He would do that.
Then the funniest thing happened. Her ex-boyfriend, who’d moved away five years before, came back to Madison. And even with all that time apart, he drew her back. A Svengali.
She was torn, she’d said. Her feelings for both of them were strong.
How can you love two people with equal intensity? he’d wondered. Was that possible?
It wasn’t. In the end she returned to her ex. The day she announced it to him was one of the worst days of his life. These were not the last words from her he wanted to hear. Maybe they could talk again. Maybe he could convince her to come back. He waited a few months, kept working, kept hoping.
But nothing changed. There were no more words. She was in love with her old boyfriend, and she was gone, a fall leaf on fire as it fell away. Or was that him?
He downed the last of his beer. The music had finished and there was only silence interrupted by the occasional pop or crackle from the fireplace. Listening to the quiet, he clasped the empty bottle in his hands.
And then he said aloud, staring into the flames, “Do you remember me like I remember you?”
Lanning Lee 