by Carol Selick
Let me tell you a story about two people I knew.
He whistled fire while his lady sang the blues.
He promised to love her and they were doin’ just fine,
Days filled with music, healthy livin’, and wine.
Life was a perfect duet.
Until it became a trio. Robbie had casually mentioned that his ex-girlfriend Susan had called a few times just to say hi. He assured me that there was nothing between them, just old friends catching up. I wanted to believe him, but this little voice in my head made me feel uneasy. One night I confronted him.
“I think Susan wants to get back with you. It’s the third time she’s phoned in two weeks. Why else would she be calling?” I asked him while eating my miso soup.
“No, she knows I love you, Yoko.”
I let it go, but I knew he was wrong. Men could be so clueless. Only another woman could pick up on what was really happening. Still, I persuaded myself to take him at his word and somehow managed to put Susan out of my mind.
And then Robbie told me about his plans for the fall. “I love you, Yoko, but I hate the city. I feel so torn. I only planned to stay until the movie ended. I never expected to meet you.”
“I know you’re a country boy, but what about us? Maybe you could work on another movie?”
“They offered me one, but I turned it down. This is such a hard decision but I have to go to Virginia.”
The heaviness of his words felt like the world was crashing down on me—our world, the one we’d built together. It was like I was sitting in a movie theater unable to leave, glued to my seat as the credits rolled and The End flashed boldly on the screen.
A week later Robbie was gone and my life was left in shambles, like the popcorn-strewn aisles of an empty theater.
13
CROSSING THE GREAT WATER
There’s a lonely woman in New York City who wants to know,
Does her man still love her? Just a simple yes or no.
If the answer is yes, she’ll sing a happy song,
But if the answer is no, she’ll be gone, gone, gone.
After Robbie left, I prayed for a letter, a sign, anything to make me feel he was still mine. Saying goodbye was hard for both of us. I didn’t want him to go, and he told me he loved me, but he had to get out of the city. The country was calling to him as strongly as the city had called to me. It was tragic. We told each other it was just for a while, but how long was that?
I wanted a letter so badly that I dreamt there was one waiting for me. But the next afternoon my mailbox was empty.
I was still working in the health food store during the day and writing blues songs at night. Looking through some old lyrics, I came upon a note my father had written to me before I moved to the city. He knew I was into the I Ching and had gone out of his way to buy me some coins that were blessed by a Chinese wise man. At least that’s what the shop owner told him. He was trying to get inside my head by any means possible, even using quotes from the I Ching to get his point across. He wrote:
It furthers one to cross the Great Water.
Whatever your decision may be, and wherever the winds may carry you,
My heart will always be with you.
That was it! My mind was made up. I had to cross the Great Water! I had to find Robbie in Virginia!
The next day I told Bruce about the mailbox dream and coming across the note from my father. “What do you think? Should I go to Virginia? Were the dream and the note a sign?” I asked.
“Let’s start with the note. You have a lot of anger towards your father, but he’s trying to show you how much he loves you. You’re never going to change him and you can’t change your childhood. You can only change how it affects you now. Your parents were doing the best they could at the time. The only place to get in touch with your anger is here.”
I knew why he brought that up. I’d visited my parents two weeks earlier, right after an intense session with Bruce. All the anger that I’d suppressed throughout my childhood was starting to come to the surface. When they said they wanted to talk to me, I sat down on a plastic-covered dining room chair, my anger mounting, knowing what was coming next: What were my plans for the future? When was I going to go back to school so I could get a real job? They made me feel like a fucking loser.
“Everything in this house is plastic!” I exploded. “Plastic dishes, plastic cups, plastic furniture covers! Plastic and beige and boring! I’ll never live like this!” I screamed even louder. “No way am I living in a cookie-cutter house with 2.5 children and neatly pruned shrubs. I will never be who you want me to be!” I simply couldn’t stop screaming. All the times my parents had made me feel like I wasn’t smart enough, pretty enough, well behaved enough, came bubbling to the surface and I just let it rip.
My anger turned to sadness on the long bus ride back to the city. I felt bad for upsetting my parents. Back at the apartment, I turned to my trusty journal:
There’s a raging fire of anger inside me. Real anger, the forbidden, shiny red fruit of every socialized, civilized person. The secret wish of every child who swallows down ‘I hate you, mommy. I hate you, daddy.’ Then goes to bed and turns off the TV, or sings in front of the dinner guests. . . . The list is endless.
The message was clear. I was feeling so down about Robbie, and my rage had been buried so deep inside for such a long time, that I’d lost control and let it out on my parents when they’d started asking me about the future.
“Carol?” Bruce’s voice was soft but strong enough to bring me back to the present.
“I get it,” I said, feeling guilty. “What I did was wrong. I should have never yelled at my parents that weekend. I realize I upset them and I know they’re worried about me. My anger surprised even me.”
“You need to get your anger out here, where it’s safe to express it. That’s when you’ll start to feel better. It takes energy to suppress feelings and that’s what causes phobias and neurosis.”
“Yeah, but what about going to see Robbie? That’s happening now. Should I go?”
“I can’t decide for you. You tend to be impulsive. Sometimes it works for you and other times against you. Can you handle either outcome, good or bad?”
“I don’t know, but it’s torture not knowing where I stand. I need to find out.”
“There’s your answer. See you in a week.”
On the train ride to Washington, I was nervous and scared. I had no idea how Robbie would react to my surprise arrival. I looked out the window at the Chesapeake Bay. It furthers one to cross the Great Water. This is my destiny, I told myself. I’m meant to be with Robbie. And yet, I didn’t know how I was going to find him once I got to DC! I knew the town in Virginia was called Flint Hill, but I had no idea where the commune was. I was crazed, on a mission to get my man back, and nothing was going to get in my way. Not even not knowing where the hell I was going was gonna stop me!
It was as if a force was guiding me back to Robbie. When I got to Union Station in DC, I found out the bus station was in the same building. I easily found the bus that was leaving for Flint Hill. Everything was falling into place. The farther we got from DC, the more beautiful the scenery became, with lush rolling hills and large stately farmhouses. I could understand why Robbie liked living here, away from the crowds and cars and graffiti. After about an hour’s ride, I moved up to the front seat and told the bus driver my predicament. By this time, there were only two other people left on the bus, and they were getting ready to get off.
Miraculously, the bus driver offered to drive me around until we found the commune. I don’t know if it was because he felt sorry for me or because I was the last one on the bus. He said he had an idea of where it might be. Within ten minutes we stopped in front of an old, white, colonial-style farmhouse. He drove the bus up the unpaved dirt driveway and waited for me to give him the thumbs
up. I knocked on the door, and a minute later Robbie’s handsome face appeared in the side window. I turned and waved goodbye to the bus driver with a big smile.
Once he got over his initial shock, Robbie was happy to see me. He held me tight in his suntanned arms right there standing at the doorsill. I was elated! I’d followed my instincts and they’d paid off big time!
There was just one minor detail I hadn’t planned on, and her name was Susan.
“Hi,” I heard from behind me. I turned my head as Robbie dropped his arms and abruptly drew a step back. She was a big-boned, waspy-looking woman with straight, mousey brown hair and blue eyes. Her most obvious feature was her over-flowing, D-cup breasts, which even her heavy denim overalls failed to successfully disguise. In the spirit of commune-ism she reached out her hand to welcome me, then quickly disappeared.
“I did write to you, Carol.” We were lying in Robbie’s bed after a desperate move on my part to reconnect physically. The sex was as good as I remembered, but we needed to communicate in a different way now.
“You did? I never got it. Wow, I guess my dream was real after all.”
“Of course. I missed you, Yoko. And I didn’t know Susan was going to come. She showed up on her own a few days after I got here. We’re not a couple, you know, but who knows what the future will bring? I like it here and so does she. Could you picture yourself living with me out here?”
“I don’t know. Let me think about it.”
I might not have known the answer, but my body did. That night I came down with a doozy of a bladder infection, probably from the intense love-making with Robbie that afternoon. Adding insult to injury, there was no indoor plumbing, and I spent the entire miserable, rainy night running to the outhouse every hour. It was one of the worst nights of my life.
Bruce was right. Sometimes my impulses paid off and sometimes they didn’t. At least I knew where I stood now and it wasn’t with Robbie. It was just a matter of time before he and Susan hooked up and became a couple again. I couldn’t wait to recross the Great Water, get back to New York, and get Robbie out of my life.
14
KEY CHANGE
You captured my spirit in your magic picture box,
Catalogued and epilogued and looked at now and then.
Damn it, I want my spirit back.
Take me out of your photograph.
I positively won’t remain your negative!
I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy to “uncross” Robbie out of my life. When I got back to the apartment, everywhere I looked reminded me of him: the bean sprouts and avocado plants on the windowsill, the Pero cereal drink we shared in the morning, the pint of chocolate Haagen Daz in the freezer that tasted so decadent after we made love in the middle of the night.
I gulped down two glasses of cranberry juice for my bladder infection and started rummaging through my underwear drawer where I’d stashed some photos Robbie had taken of us. We looked so happy and innocent it was clear that we were in love. In a fit of rage, I grabbed a scissors and cut up the pictures into little pieces, and threw them in the air. They fell on the bed in a pattern of black and white images that made no sense, just like what had happened to us. I took one last look and tossed them in the trash. There was one set of pictures I didn’t have the heart to throw away—the collage of the nude photos he’d taken of me and fit into a heart for our one-month anniversary. It must have taken him hours to do. I couldn’t toss it, so I stuck it back in the drawer under my panties.
A few days later, I received a letter from Melanie and Marsha from Boulder, Colorado. Marsha had moved there with her boyfriend right after graduation and Melanie had gone to visit, met a musician, and decided to stay. I hadn’t told them about breaking up with Marsha’s brother, Robbie.
Oh! How far out, you are in love!!! Melanie began. No Libber raps. Yes, souls fly if we let them. My Mark and your Robbie are both Aries! Come see the mountains and feel the sun and trip on life and sing all day and wear shorts and smiles! Carol, you are so much, and always know it, and feel it, and understand it. I love you and miss you and am happy you are happy.
What is there to say? Marsha wrote in a postscript. I can feel your energy! And we know you can feel ours!
The letter made me so sad I wondered if I should leave New York and move out to Colorado.
We were strong women who would always be connected through the unimaginable things we’d survived together. I was so proud of my friends for getting through the rape and coming out on the sunny side of a dark, dark cloud. That they were able to feel love and joy again was nothing short of a miracle. We’d lost touch with Bonnie, but Melanie thought she was probably somewhere in the middle of Africa, riding an elephant and living her dream with her college boyfriend.
I was tempted to move to Colorado, but I knew if I wanted to make it in the music business I had to stay in New York, no matter how lonely and miserable I felt. I again poured out my feelings in my journal, my new and only bedtime companion.
She sleeps with six pillows to cushion her, stays on her side of the bed.
The emptiness embraces her like a living, breathing thing.
The life that they once shared is buried in the sunlight that is suddenly the past,
And tomorrow is confused by how the patterns changed so fast.
Friends tell her that she’s acting brave, but the night-time knows her better,
And the morning’s her reward for getting through.
Nothing was everyday, every day they spent together,
No night will ever be like the nights that they once knew.
I hoped to turn my ramblings into songs someday, but for now, I just needed an outlet for the raw emotion and pain.
Every day I dragged myself to work. The rows of vitamins, protein powders, and royal jelly creams, the whole alternative health vibe, reminded me of Robbie, and I went out of my way to eat a Big Mac for lunch in protest. That was the least of my bad habits. I was up to a pack and a half of cigarettes a day. I’m sure I looked like the unhealthiest health food store clerk in the city. I was only hurting myself, but I didn’t care.
“It’s no coincidence that you’re wearing all black,” Bruce commented. It was my first session with him since my Virginia trip and he could tell from looking at me how things had gone.
“No, it isn’t. I’m in mourning,” I said as I lit a cigarette.
“In your last session, you said you were prepared to deal with the outcome whatever it would be.”
“I guess I wasn’t expecting Robbie’s ex to be there. I knew she’d been calling him when we were together, but he told me it was over.”
“He wasn’t the right one for you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“From what you told me, he had commitment issues. He dropped out of college with only one semester to go, and he turned down an opportunity to continue his career in film-making.”
“I guess, but what does that have to do with being in a relationship?”
“It’s all tied in. You need someone who knows where he’s going. Who’s not afraid to plan more than a season at a time.”
“But we loved each other!”
“Did I ever tell you the story about the widow who just started dating?”
I shook my head no.
“She came home from a date and started talking to her late husband’s picture on the nightstand. ‘Abe, you’re the only man for me,’ she said. Then she went on another date and another date, and every time, as soon as she got home, she looked at her husband’s picture and said, ‘No one measures up to you, Abe.’ After about the fifth date, she came home, walked over to the nightstand, and placed her late husband’s picture face down on the table.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“You may not feel that way now, but there will be another man that you’ll
fall in love with.”
“Maybe, but what do I do until then?”
“What do you think?”
“Frame a picture of Robbie and talk to it?” We both started laughing. Only Bruce could change my mood like that.
“I think you know there are other areas of your life you can concentrate on now.”
“Yeah, like my music.”
“And your work here.”
That night some music ads in the Village Voice caught my eye. Two musicians in Brooklyn who claimed to have a manager were looking for a female singer. It sounded interesting, but it was in Bay Ridge, and getting there was a hassle. I still couldn’t take the subway by myself, and even when I’d tried riding the train with Robbie, I was a total wreck.
Nevertheless, I decided to go for it. It took me two buses and a whole hour to get to the try-out. I walked the three blocks to the audition nervously clearing my throat, wondering if I would fit in.
I rang the doorbell, trying not to get my hopes up. This is just an experiment to explore my options, I told myself. A cute twenty-something guy with a Beatles haircut opened the door and introduced himself as Peter, the keyboard player. He led me downstairs to the basement where his partner Frank was playing a few runs on the bass.
Peter asked if I sang any Beatle songs. When I shook my head no, Frank asked, “What would you like to sing, Carol?”
“What about ‘House of the Rising Sun’? I sing it in B flat.”
“All right, let’s hear it,” Frank said and handed me the mic. They were solid players, and I belted my heart out. I held my last note, still sounding strong, then turned around to see what they thought. They were looking at each other with big grins, and Frank was nodding yes. “Wow! You really can sing!” Peter exclaimed, flashing me a smile. “You wanna hear some of our songs?”
“Sure,” I said casually, flooded with relief. My heart stopped racing, I tossed my head back, sat down on the beat-up sofa near the guitar amps, and stretched out my legs.