Beyond the Blue

When you look long enough, something pulses behind the blue sky. It's like a page that won't seem to turn. Still, the universe peeks through from the other side, a steady gaze through a two-way mirror and you know it is there.

His eyes were the same shade of blue and they reflected a similar mystery of a hidden story.

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Chilled winter air stunned the night. I listened to my footsteps as they echoed off concrete apartment stairs while I climbed two flights. I had never been there before. My cold hand, already a clenched fist, rapped at the door. It opened without hesitation. Bridgette, a new friend from work, was more than welcoming. We were to meet at her place and head out together to a small concert. A jazz night at some up-and-coming dive that was sure to be packed. At least we had the same taste in music.

I followed her down a strangely long hallway deeper into the apartment. In shy silence I marveled at the immense closet space of her entryway. The place smelled of lavender candles and I could see little flames dancing in the fragrance on homemade end tables in the living room. A melody suddenly caught in my chest.

In the corner a figure sat, his fingers shaping rhythmic harmonies with black and white keys. For a moment I thought I knew him. I knew the chords he resonated, the sound of a velvet touch on the piano. A long time family friend of mine was that brand of music man. I began to project a delighted 'hello' at the realization that the two were acquainted. Just then, he turned and where I expected to see brown eyes I saw blue. I was intrigued, stunned, charmed, and just like that he was gone.

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I discovered we had enough friends in common to be constantly aware of his presence in the city somewhere in the back of my mind. But, nothing ever came of it. I would scan rooms for his face at gatherings, wonder if he walked the same trails I did on the weekends, but he was nowhere to be found. It didn't matter much, he was just a novel curiosity. Years went by, eight to be exact.

Life seems to have a way of circling back on the moments we need to dig deeper into.

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I was digging, clawing away at ruins of a past relationship gone wrong. I was uprooting connections that no longer kept me vibrant. By all definition, I was a river poured out. Sometimes that is the perfect way to be in order to fill up again with greater things.

There I was, wandering around the city, admiring the architecture, eavesdropping on the passersby, when I opened the door to a large building. The air rushed over me carrying a familiar tune that melted me into a stream of liquid honey. I could hear a voice that I did not know singing with such sincerity as to dip into my heart and draw up my own passion for music that I'd somehow lost along the way. I had to see that face to match the voice. Did I know him?

Just as before, the melody caught in my chest. I met blue eyes behind a silver microphone gazing over black and white keys right at me. It was him.

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Serendipity found me searching that night and pulled me near to this man. We walked under miles of diamonds falling here and there from a midnight sky. I could feel dew beading on moonlit grass and my heart was hushed by the strong peace I felt in the nearness of the music man. We were so similar. Twin sonatas written in different keys. I could not have been more elated, but I had also never felt so grounded. I adored that feeling certainty without frivolity.

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His hands shook. In the beginning I thought he was nervous. He fidgeted and tremored like wind chimes tossed in a storm. I thought it was endearing at the outset.

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With a little more time under our belts, our plans were in place. He was to be my most treasured song and I his only muse. Nothing was perfect, but I cherished that. It seemed so real. But, when I looked into his eyes I could see a torrent beyond the quiet blue. I never could place it for sure, instead I struck a deal with trust that all would be well.

All was not well.

In a sudden strike, as if it were involuntary, the music man cut his ties with me in a whirlwind of confusion. No explanation that carried any weight. He just vanished. Where there was once a caring charm, now was some burnt, charred void. He became something that could not give. It was as if the sharp end of a Shakespearian story had pierced my heart and twisted itself further, routing through my veins like winding plots that never end favorably.

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I was digging. There had to be answers. I sat on the couch in my living room holding a mirror steady in my hands, looking into my own eyes. The afternoon sun gave away the lines. I studied the freckles on my face and considered how I secretly adored the light dusting of the same over his hands. His hands. Suddenly, it all came rushing in at me. Wave after wave of the storm behind the blue that I could not see. Billowing over me, capsizing my reality. His hands shook. His breath was sometimes sweet with a faint scent of vodka that perhaps allured me by its familiarity from another time in my life. At the time, I didn't know what I had detected. I never saw him drink. Not once. He was sick often. Food poisoning, flu, anything, there was always an excuse. He hid it well.

A week prior, I had asked him if he was sure he was ok, that maybe he should consider seeing a doctor for this recurring issue. I had asked, then he went cold.

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This mystery box of secrets began unfolding before me and just as quickly as the realizations took the stage in my mind, I would ask the music man for answers. It only unraveled more, it only got colder, darker, more convoluted. Never better. We fought with a fierceness I didn't know I possessed. Over time he seemed to cloak himself and shadow his demons until he faded from my life completely. He never admitted that he drank.

Eventually he unhooked from all our mutual friends. I don't see his face through lavender candles anymore at friends houses. I hear he has tried to build a new relationship. The fools gold kind that shines with the false promise of success. He will not speak to me.

The wind sometimes breathes the cadence of his melodies. I can hear his song, feel the weight of his hands and the tenderness of his deep heart. He is a shipwreck and no one else knows it. I am the ocean he refuses to sail. He will not repair.

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How can you reach behind the sky and turn back the page to see the universe behind unless the sun hides her face? I cannot reach beyond his blue. He is two-way glass. I can see him, but he cannot see through. My music man is lost under a heavy cloak of starlight and alcohol. No matter how I cry he cannot hear me calling.

But they say, life has a way of circling back. I prefer linear journeys.
But in this case, I hope the circle is true.