by Joan Brady
I turned my gaze back to Joe to share this magnificent insight, but he wasn’t there anymore. Disappeared into thin air, I supposed. I rose from the couch as though in a trance, and in a way, I suppose I was. I wasn’t the least bit unsettled by Joe’s mysterious comings and goings anymore. I walked over to the mirror on the wall and I saw Joe staring back at me. I laughed. He laughed.
“I finally love myself, Joe,” I said, beaming.
“I know,” he said, proud as a peacock.
8
IT WASN’T LONG AFTER THAT night that I saw an ad in the local newspaper advertising that Jim MaGuire was playing his seductive saxophone in one of the many infamous nightclubs that line the Jersey shore. New Jersey’s reputation may take a powerful beating at times, but no one in their right mind would deny that our music scene is anything less than “happening.” Of course, we have Bruce Springsteen to thank for that.
And if Springsteen was “The Boss,” then Jim MaGuire was “The Sauce.” The icing on the cake. The Crème de la Crème.
I sneaked out of work early that night and paid a ten-dollar cover charge to see the man behind the saxophone who so intrigued me.
It felt like entering a cave at first. The room was dark and smoky and at least ten degrees cooler than the muggy summer night outside. The only illumination came from some red and blue neon Budweiser signs in the shape of a can of beer under a palm tree. There were three or four of them hanging on the far wall and they cast an eerie glow on the faces of the mellowed out crowd.
Arriving at midnight like this reminded me of younger years when it was considered “uncool” to be seen anywhere before the twelve o’clock hour. For some reason, I seemed to fit right in tonight. Before meeting Joe, I would probably have been overdressed on a night like this, but he had taught me well. By encouraging me to get rid of all my old “hot” outfits when I moved into my little beach house, I now had little choice as to what I would wear for any occasion.
Like most seasoned three-to-eleven nurses, I had thrown some civvies into a knapsack and kept it in my locker at the hospital. I actually felt my whole mood shift gears when I stripped off my white uniform in our musty locker room and slid into my comfortable old jeans, white T-shirt, and white high-top sneakers. I had washed my face with cold water and applied some confiscated hospital lotion to my sun-kissed face. I didn’t use much makeup these days, since my face had a warm glow from long morning walks on the beach and my eyes reflected a peaceful and contented soul. What would be the point in painting over that?
With my comfortable clothes and almost makeupless face, I looked and felt like someone who really belonged in this artsy, mellow, musical scene. The trick of fitting in, I had discovered, was in not trying to fit in. I proved my point by ordering a bottle of mineral water. I no longer had any need to alter my mental state with alcohol. Real life was infinitely more interesting and more exciting.
The cool water glided down my throat and sent a delicious shiver along my spine. It felt good to be away from the chaos of the hospital and to finally be able to relax and reflect on the fact that 1 had run into Greg Anderson earlier in my shift. It had been an unusually busy evening in the trauma unit, but I still had made time for a decent dinner in the cafeteria and had run into him for the first time since that fateful night in June.
Something about me must have changed, because Greg sat with me and couldn’t stop complimenting me on how pretty and relaxed I looked these days. The surprising thing was that it really didn’t matter to me what Greg thought of my appearance. In fact, I even asked about his wife and family with sincere interest. I was cured! Greg Anderson was no longer capable of hurting me. I had reclaimed my power.
I took another sip of my mineral water and began mentally downshifting from high-strung, super-responsible nurse, to mellowed out, tranquil, music lover. I thought of one of Joe’s commandments for me, the one about enjoying every moment. How right he had been. Never before would I have been aware of what joy there is in not just an event itself, but in the very anticipation of it. Before meeting Joe, I would have been too impatient to savor the moments building up to hearing the music I loved most, the music that touched me somewhere deep in my soul and made me feel as if the musician who created it must know me very well. I smiled to myself thinking of all the contentment Joe had brought into my life.
Someone bumped my shoulder, jolting me back to the moment. I found myself looking at a black leather jacket, and my gaze followed the silver zipper further up where a curious-looking medal hung from a very muscular neck. Even further, and I saw a roguish five o’clock shadow on an angular face and just a hint of dimples in both corners of a sensitive mouth. His hair was as black as the jacket he wore, and it was kind of wild and unruly in a boyish sort of way.
“I like your smile,” he said without any hint of barroom phoniness. Unknowingly, he had said something that healed me of that old self-consciousness about my crooked teeth. In spite of my attempt to eliminate my ego, I blushed and smiled even wider.
“Thanks,” I murmured, not knowing what else to say to this rather magnetic man. Why did I find him so charming? He had only said one sentence to me and already I felt somewhat drawn to him. Was I just desperate? I hadn’t thought so. Or was it that in a way, he reminded me of Joe? Yeah, that must be it. The more I studied him, the more I could see the similarities.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” he asked as he took a swig from the bottle in his hand, and I noticed with some surprise that he was drinking the same thing I was, mineral water. Not too long ago, I would have immediately labeled him a health nut, but now I was impressed by a man who was secure enough to walk into a bar and order mineral water. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed the healthy gulp he’d taken, and I couldn’t help but smile.
He looked down at me and returned my smile. “What’s so funny,” he asked, ready for a good laugh.
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I replied, wishing I could come up with some kind of witty remark. Then I heard Joe inside my head reminding me to be myself, to let go of the ego. “I was just thinking of a good friend of mine,” I said. “And thinking of him always makes me smile.”
“Lucky man,” said the tall stranger.
“Oh, no. It’s not like that,” I hastened to point out, not understanding why it was so important to let this enticing new acquaintance know that I was unattached.
“Does that mean you’re here by yourself?” he asked, dark brown eyes dancing and flirting at the same time. I lowered my eyes bashfully. “Don’t be coy,” he teased.
“Okay,” I answered, about to break every one of the rules I’d learned in women’s magazines about snaring a man by never letting him see your real self. “I’m here by myself,” I stated proudly. “I love Jim MaGuire’s music, and nothing in this world would have kept me away tonight.”
“Good for you.” He grinned. “You have excellent taste. I like his music too. I wonder why he’s not that well known.”
“The truly great ones never are,” I remarked with exaggerated sympathy. Then I began to babble and I couldn’t stop myself. “His music does something to me, you know? It turns my heart into melted butter.”
“Oooh, I like that,” he said with a grin that made me a little weak in the knees. Why was I suddenly so attracted to this complete stranger? I thought I knew better than that. As if on cue, he then asked my name and held out a broad, yet graceful hand. Suddenly I felt like a schoolgirl or a timid little rabbit.
I slipped my hand inside his and said, “I’m Christine,” hoping my voice didn’t reveal how utterly charmed I was.
“Christine what?” he asked gently, the way a big, kind policeman might speak to a frightened child. He was irresistible.
“Christine Moore,” I said, a little more confidently, noticing the sliver of diamond he had pierced through one ear.
“Well, Christine,” he replied with a teasing glint in his eye, “I hope I get to see Moore of you.” With that, he li
fted my hand to his soft lips and planted a whisper of a kiss on my fingers.
I was speechless for a moment as he excused himself and disappeared into the crowd before I even had a chance to ask him his name. Damn, I thought. Why are the cute ones always so elusive?
“He’s not elusive,” a voice behind me said, “just a little preoccupied.”
I knew before turning around that Joe would be standing behind me, hearing my thoughts, as usual. “Preoccupied with what?” I demanded of him. “Aren’t I enough to hold a man’s attention for more than five minutes?”
Joe shook his head. “You know better than that, Christine. Why do you automatically assume that some shortcoming in you is responsible for another’s erratic behavior?”
“Good question,” I had to admit. “Why do I do that?”
“You tell me,” Joe challenged. “It’s time you stopped relying on me to answer these basic questions for you. Try trusting your own judgment.”
There was not even a hint of impatience in his tone, yet I was surprised at Joe’s reluctance to just hand me an answer the way he had since I’d met him.
“Well, it’s probably just a very bad habit of mine,” I said. “I mean, you’re right, I do know better than to assume there’s something wrong with me just because some person I don’t even know doesn’t seem interested.”
“Go on,” Joe encouraged. “Why do you do it then?”
“Laziness,” I said triumphantly. “I’ve been too lazy to break a bad habit. It’s easier to blame my unhappiness on some imagined shortcoming of mine, rather than realizing that people have all kinds of reasons for not wanting to get involved with each other and that is just the way it is. It is in no way a reflection on me.”
“Very good.” Joe clapped his hands, my one-man fan club.
“It took a lot of thinking to get to that point,” I said, laughing. “No wonder I took the lazy way out for so many years.”
“I’ll tell you a little secret,” Joe said through a smile.
“What?”
“That guy is not only interested in you, he is absolutely bowled over by you.”
“Yeah, right. Don’t tease,” I said, pouting. “I suppose that’s why he walked away.”
“You’re hopeless sometimes, Christine.” Joe chuckled as he gave my ponytail an affectionate tug. “The guy walked away because he didn’t know how to respond to how attracted he is to you.”
“Oh, c’mon,” I said in utter disbelief. “How do you know that?”
Joe said nothing and just cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the lightbulb to go on in my brain.
“Oh, of course!” I said, not a minute too soon. “You’re God, you know everything!”
“I wish you’d quit thinking of me as God,” Joe said a bit irritably. “The term is so outdated.” He took my glass of mineral water from my hand and took a long, slow swallow. “My work with you is almost done, Christine,” he continued, “but I won’t feel comfortable until I know you think of me as more of a guide or something. Your perception of ‘God’ is a bit inaccurate and I’ve decided to discourage that image.” He looked lovingly at me with those magnetic brown eyes and lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. “I want to be more than that to you, Christine, more than some big guy in the sky who keeps score of all your wrongdoings.”
Now it was my turn to laugh. For once, he should have known better. “Of course you mean more to me than that,” I soothed. Surprisingly, I felt tears of tenderness sting my eyes, but I made no effort to banish them. Joe had taught me well. I reached for his warm, soft hand and held it to my cheek. “You’ve taught me so much, Joe,” I said earnestly. “And I love you so much. And now that I understand that stuff about how you are me and I am you, I can finally relax into being who I really am and love myself for it. That’s the most loving gift I’ve ever known.” I knew the tears were shining in my eyes, and it didn’t surprise me at all to see tears shining in Joe’s eyes as well.
Wordlessly, he wrapped his strong arms around me and kissed the top of my head. “You’ve been a star student,” he murmured, “especially tonight.”
“Oh, you mean that stuff about not blaming myself for everything?” I said absently.
“No, I’m talking about the way you ran into your old boyfriend at work—what’s his name?”
I broke from his arms and looked up into that beautiful face. “Greg Anderson? Is that who you’re talking about?” I asked, amazed that I had already forgotten about my encounter earlier tonight in the hospital cafeteria.
“Yeah, him,” Joe said. “Six weeks ago, you were destroyed by the fact that he married someone else. Tonight you run into him and it doesn’t even faze you. It doesn’t hurt anymore. That’s progress!”
“Yeah, I guess it is,” I said, laughing, shocked at such a glaring example of my personal growth.
“Hey, I have something for you,” Joe said as he reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a gift-wrapped box, the kind jewelry usually comes in.
Unable to speak for the wild anticipation and utterly confusing emotions that were running rampant in my poor, overstimulated mind, I clumsily opened the box. It got hard to breathe as I opened the lid and peered inside. There, in the middle of some cotton stuffing, sat a piece of gold in the shape of the tablets that Moses was famous for carrying down the mountain. I read the lengthy inscription on it:
1. Do not build walls, for they are dangerous. Learn to transcend them.
2. Live in the moment, for each one is precious and not to be squandered.
3. Take care of yourself, first and foremost.
4. Drop the ego. Be real. And watch what happens.
5. All things are possible all of the time.
6. Maintain Universal Flow. When someone gives, it is an act of generosity to receive. For in the giving, there is something gained.
“I don’t ever remember discussing that last one, Joe,” I said, recovering from my chaotic emotions.
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I included an explanation on it. I got a little behind schedule with you. It’s the last one you have to learn and you’re going to need a lot of practice on this one. You know, being a nurse and all, you tend to give far more than you allow yourself to receive.”
The man knew me like a book. I had always been far more comfortable giving to people, fixing them and rescuing them, rather than allowing anyone to give to me. It had always been far easier to focus on the needs of other people, because if I had ever stopped to examine my own longings, I was afraid there would be no end to them. It was time now to look at my own needs and begin to fulfill them one at a time.
Then a terrible thought struck me. Was this the end? Had this been a farewell gift? I wasn’t ready to let go of him. There was still so much I had to learn; still so much I needed from him.
“What we have will never end, Christine,” he said tenderly, anticipating my unasked question. “Now you know that I am real and any time you doubt my existence, you have only to look at those little gold tablets to know that all of this really happened.”
Oh, no. It was true. He was saying good-bye. Tears started spilling down my face as the realization sunk in. “Please don’t go,” I begged lamely.
“You have nothing to be concerned about,” Joe soothed as he wiped a tear from my face for the last time in this lifetime. “I won’t leave you empty-handed. There are so many good things on their way to you, you can’t even imagine.” He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and anchored it behind my ear. “Just promise me you’ll always keep an open mind and that you’ll never doubt me again or forget about our time together.”
I was incredulous. How could he even imagine I would ever forget? Just then, the lights blinked off, filling the room with darkness. The sweet strains of Jim MaGuire’s saxophone permeated the air as a blue light outlined the silhouette of a man with longish, curly hair playing his horn as though it were a part of him.
I looked up at Joe, desperately wanting to burn his imag
e into my memory, knowing that this would be the last time in my life that I would see him. “Who’s next?” I asked, wondering where he would be off to in an effort to complete his list of people on this earth who needed their own personal set of commandments. He knew what I meant and he squeezed my hand.
“See that girl over there?” he said, pointing to a tall blond in a skintight miniskirt. My heart sank.
“Did you have to pick such a . . . a . . . sexy one?” I asked miserably.
Joe laughed at me and I knew why. “We’re going to have to do some work on her wardrobe too,” he said with a teasing wink. He turned back to me and lifted my chin up with his long forefinger. “Remember,” he murmured over the beautiful saxophone music in the background, “I’m never farther away than a whisper.” Then he kissed the tip of my nose and sauntered off in the direction of the unsuspecting, lucky girl in the skintight miniskirt.
I watched until he was just a dark and indefinable figure in a dim and crowded room. I leaned forlornly on the bar. Now what? What would life be without Joe? Of course, I knew the answer. Life would be everything Joe said it would be as long as I remembered to live by all he had taught me.
I lifted my head and drank in Jim MaGuire’s lovely music, determined to live in the present moment and not to squander any of the joy Joe had taught me to appreciate. And then a funny thing happened.
The silhouette on stage who was pouring his heart out through his saxophone began to look familiar. He was familiar. The tall, lanky body, the long, unruly hair, and the silver medal resting on his chest, made it clear who he was. I had been flirting with Jim MaGuire. Me! The Jim MaGuire!
I’ve always despised the kind of women who faint over rock stars, but suddenly I had a new perspective on their behavior. Not that I was going to faint, but I couldn’t wipe the look of total amazement off my face.
• • •
Jim MaGuire finished his set of musical masterpieces to a grateful and admiring audience. The crowd was animated and electrified by his performance, but I sat dumbstruck on my barstool, wondering what could possibly happen next. I watched him shake hands with his fans as he made his way through the crowd, heading in my general direction.