by Carol Selick
“I hope I can get through this,” I sniffled, wiping the tears from under my eyes as I tried to pull myself together. “I guess I’ll have a lot of material for songwriting!” I said, taking a stab at a half-hearted joke.
“You’re a lot stronger than you think. I believe you have a bright future ahead of you. Don’t give up now.”
I knew Bruce was right, but I wasn’t ready to hear it. I needed time to mourn my almost perfect life.
Three weeks went by and each day got a little easier. Before I knew it, the middle of June rolled around, and it was my birthday. I’d been dreading spending the day—and especially the night—alone, but then Nina called and offered to take me on a girls’ night out. On the day of my birthday, I asked Katie if I could leave work early. She not only agreed, she gave me a box of my favorite granola bars as a present. I left the store around two o’clock, which gave me plenty of time to shower and change.
Things were looking up as I got home from work and checked out my mailbox. It was full! I rushed up to the apartment and sat down on the couch. I was curious to see who’d sent me a card. Was I actually turning twenty-three? It sounded so old!
I was shocked to see a postcard from Paris in between the birthday cards. I took it out of the pile and put it on the coffee table. I wasn’t ready to turn over the picture of a glittering Eiffel Tower lighting up the evening Parisian skies. I almost got to see that, I thought.
The first card was from my college roommate Marsha in Colorado. She’d painted an abstract blue and purple watercolor and written: Happy Birthday, Lady of The Blues. The next card was from my parents. There were individual notes from my father and mother inserted into the card with a hundred-dollar check. My mother wrote:
Dear Carol,
What does a mother say to a daughter who is 23 years old? Can I give you all of my experience and knowledge? Can I offer you the strength of my maturity? Can I guide you along life’s path? No, none of these will do, for you must travel the path of self-discovery. I know that you must do it alone, but a mother can only hope that her echo will break the sound barrier. I can only hope that a ray of light will shine into the window of your heart and mind. My echo, my ray of light.
Happy Birthday,
Love,
Mommy
My mother’s words made me feel very emotional. Tears were already welling up in my eyes as I turned to my father’s poem.
At 23 love will seem true,
Full of depth, beauty and storm.
It will seal your heart like glue,
And make you a starry-eyed fawn.
Then all joy may turn to tears
And pain from a broken heart,
Though this boy, this love, will disappear
From the tender embrace of life’s art.
These hurts are but lessons in strength
Which bitterly test who you are.
As always in the wings we’ll wait
With our love to fill your needs,
For you are our life, our Fate—
We are one, like the earth, sun, and seeds.
By the time I reached the final line, bittersweet tears were flowing down my face. The heartfelt emotion of both of my parents touched me to the core. It was good to know that they would always be there for me, but even better to know that I could stand on my own two feet. It was a strange paradox—the freer I felt from them, the closer I felt to them.
I toyed with the idea of tearing up Eric’s postcard, but I was too curious. I turned it over and read:
Hi Carol,
The tour’s keeping me very busy, but I remembered it was your birthday and wanted to send you birthday wishes from Paris. As you know, the life of a musician is as unpredictable as a roller coaster ride, but two musicians in love is an even more difficult journey. I will always think of you fondly, ma chérie.
Love, Eric
I still missed him terribly and it hurt to be without him, but I was all out of tears. I put his postcard on top of the pile and placed them inside the Paris box I’d left sitting on the coffee table.
Eric was right—it was time to get off the roller coaster. I wanted to grab the brass ring but take my own steadier ride. I’d had enough drama to last ten lifetimes. I’d been with cheaters, bad boys, rebels, wanderers, and dreamers. I looked around the apartment. Marvin had forwarded me the lease a few days ago and it was now officially mine! In a few months, my rented piano would be paid off, too. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a used Kohler and Campbell upright, and sometimes the second G below Middle C got stuck, but it was all mine, and I knew I’d be writing a lot of new songs on it.
I showered and slipped into the tie-dyed sundress I’d splurged on a few days after Eric left and took a good look at myself in the mirror. The dress was brightly colored, with a red, blue, and green batik pattern and not a hint of black. My breasts fit into it, no need for a bra, although I’d given in and bought two of them, and I even wore them occasionally! I was putting on concealer to cover the redness around my eyes when the buzzer rang. “Hi there, Birthday Girl!” Nina brightly greeted me as I pressed down on the intercom. “Ready to have fun?” I opened the door to the sound of her footsteps bounding up the stairs.
Nina burst in and gave me a big hug. “Happy Birthday!” she exclaimed, reaching out to twirl me around. “Wow, nice dress!” Laughing, she looked around, checking out the apartment. “The place looks good too. New curtains?”
“No, I’ve had them for a while.”
She flopped on the couch and pointed to the Paris box. “That’s pretty! What’s inside?”
“Nothing but memories.”
“Come on, it’s time to make some new ones!” Nina exclaimed. She stood up, grabbed my arm, and led me out the door.
40
EPILOGUE
The sounds we hear take us to a place we’ve never been, the rhythm pulls us in
A wild ride, and suddenly we’re in another time, your eyes meet mine
Heart and soul, discovering a world where we belong,
Beyond the lines, beyond the rhymes, beyond the song.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I had my own home, a real home. I’d signed the lease and Marvin’s apartment was officially mine. I called my parents to tell them the good news and they begrudgingly admitted that I’d kept my part of the bargain—I was supporting myself and making inroads in the music business. Going back to college could wait!
Rose and I were on a roll. The publisher said that “Let Me Bring Out the Animal in You” was still under consideration for the werewolf movie, to play at the end when the credits rolled! Regina’s recording with the little growl made the final cut for her album, which was coming out in a couple of weeks. I couldn’t wait to hear how the song came out and see the credits on the back of the album cover: Music and lyrics by Carol Marks and Rose Marie McCoy!
Rose and I were shifting gears and writing country-pop songs. I’d come up with a song idea, “Tonight Will You Love Me One Last Time,” and was finding songwriting therapeutic. I was releasing all the emotions I felt about my break-up with Eric and finding a way to explore them. My weekly voice lessons with Maxine were paying off. I was pretty close to getting up the confidence to ask Rose if I could sing on the demo of our new song.
Marvin had sold me his furniture for practically nothing, but I wanted to add a few of my own touches to help me get organized and straighten up the apartment. One weekend, I took the bus to my parents and asked if they could donate some pieces. They were more than happy to oblige. I chose a modern pole lamp with three directional lights and a white Formica desk, and my father loaded up his trusty station wagon and dutifully drove me back to New York.
Remembering how he’d got the key stuck in the door the first time he’d helped me move to the city, I wasn’t taking any chances. This time I turned the key in the lock as
he nabbed a good parking spot a few doors down from the building. We managed to lug the furniture up the stairs and into the apartment and positioned the desk between the sofa and the piano so I could easily go from one to the other when writing. Just before he left, my father gave me a big hug and handed me an envelope. Inside, again, was a hundred-dollar bill, just as when I’d first moved in. Reading his note made me teary-eyed:
Carol,
Your mother and I may not always agree with your decisions, but we are proud of you. We wish you much success in your new endeavors, but remember we’re here for you and you always have a home in New Jersey.
I made myself a cup of peppermint tea and started sorting through the piles of papers I’d accumulated over the last few months. Receipts, bills, and lyrics were haphazardly scattered all over my dresser, kitchen table, and even the top of the piano. Sitting at my desk for the first time, I was methodically examining each scrap of paper when I came across an old Chinese take-out menu. Why did I keep this? I wondered, turning it over. And there it was: 212-247-1254. Bruce’s number, right where Marvin had scribbled it before he’d left for California. Marvin had been right. Bruce was the person I’d needed to call.
I smiled, thinking back to our last therapy session. Bruce had spoken first, “How do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“Pretty good. I’m so busy with songwriting and getting ready to play at The Bitter End that I don’t have much time to worry about anything else.”
“How would you feel about being on your own and not seeing me for a while?”
“Are you breaking up with me?” I asked half-jokingly. We had broached the subject of ending therapy several times, but it always seemed nebulous and far away.
Bruce smiled. “I think it’s time to test the waters. You’ve proven to yourself that you can overcome life’s obstacles. You’re a survivor.”
Even though I’d known this day was coming and that the goal of therapy was to leave, the realization that the time had actually come left me dumbstruck. When I finally found the words to speak, I was even more stunned to hear myself agreeing with Bruce.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re right. I am a survivor,” I said. I took a long, last look around the room that had been my sanctuary, my respite, for over a year. We stood up, and then I shyly looked up at Bruce. “Still, I’m gonna miss you.”
“Remember, Carol, my door is always open if you need me.”
I’d walked out of Bruce’s office over three months ago. There were many times I felt tempted to call him, but something always stopped me. Of course, I missed his kind, handsome face, his understanding eyes, his reassuring voice, and the way he always calmed me down. But I was making my own decisions and I felt empowered and free.
My eyes turned back to the piles on the desk. One of Eric’s postcards peeked out from under some old bills. There were several others from London, Rome, and Athens, but they didn’t make me feel like I was missing out. Yes, there were times when I longed to feel his arms around me, but I was right where I wanted to be—in the heart of the greatest city in the world.
The late autumn wind gusted under my woolen poncho and I wrapped it around me a little tighter and sped up my pace to The Bitter End. So much had happened since the last time I’d been there to see Melissa Manchester with Melanie a little over nine months ago. Now I was going to perform on that very stage!
The sign in the front window caught my eye as I reached the club, stopping me in my tracks.
Sunday Afternoon Singer-Songwriter Showcase at The Bitter End
Featured Artists:
Manny Armstrong
Carol Marks
October 22nd–3PM
There it was—Carol Marks! I felt like pointing to my name and yelling, “Hey, that’s me!” to all the passersby. I was playing at The Bitter End, the place where legends were made and so many of my idols had started out—Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Carly Simon, even Bob Dylan. Rose said that publishers and A&R label reps still frequented the club looking for new talent. So who knew? Maybe I’d be discovered too!
I checked my reflection in the window, smoothed my hair, and walked in the door. It was bright and sunny outside, but inside it could easily have been midnight. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, smoky club, I spotted Nina sitting at the reserved table, talking to Stevie and Dani, who’d come in from Jersey to support me. As I made my way toward them, weaving through the maze of tables in the timeless atmosphere of the half-filled club, Dani stood up to greet me.
“Thanks for coming! Can you believe this?” I asked, slipping off my poncho. Dani reached out and gave me a big bear hug.
“I always believed in your music!” she said, squeezing me hard.
“Me too!” Stevie joined in. She hugged me too, then stood back and shared her unsolicited opinion of my outfit. “Nice top! It’ll look dramatic when you’re at the keyboard!”
“Thanks, that’s what I thought,” I smiled. I’d chosen a white and silver off-the-shoulder blouse with bell sleeves from an upscale boutique in my neighborhood.
“Aren’t you nervous?”
“My butterflies have butterflies!”
“That’s a good sign,” Nina assured me. “It means you’re going to give a great performance!”
Just then Melanie came rushing through the door with the new boyfriend she’d met at NYU. And yes, he was rich! She looked very happy as she introduced us. “Good Luck! Break a leg!” she whispered in my ear.
As the waitress came to take our order, the club manager signaled me over for a soundcheck while he adjusted some speakers on stage. I tried out the Fender Rhodes keyboard on the intro to my first song. It reminded me of the keyboard I’d performed on with the band back in DC, except that this one was in tune. I one, two, three’d into the mic, the sound guy nodded OK, and I returned to my friends.
I’d just taken my seat when a tap on my shoulder made me turn around. There was Rose, looking as sophisticated as ever in a red dress, red beret, and brown leather coat.
“Carol, you look beautiful!”
“Thanks, Rose, so do you! Hey, everybody—this is my famous songwriter friend, Rose Marie McCoy!” I proclaimed. “We’re working on some songs together!”
Just before the lights dimmed, I was floored to see my voice teacher walk into the club.
“Maxine!” I rushed over to greet her. “Thank you for coming to my show!”
“Carol dear, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she said and gave me a little hug. “Remember dear, take some deep breaths right before you begin, and don’t start singing until you’re absolutely comfortable.”
The lights dimmed further yet as the first performer took the stage. He looked like a typical folksinger as he adjusted his twelve-string guitar, his embroidered guitar strap resting across the front of his faded denim shirt. He started in on a Dylan song, still staring down at his guitar, and I made a mental note to make eye contact with the audience. I clapped politely when he finished, but it was hard to concentrate as I waited for my turn in the spotlight.
And then I heard: “Let’s give a big welcome to Carol Marks!”
“You’re gonna be great,” Rose whispered and beamed me a smile. I could hardly feel my feet as I stood up, and a wave of applause pushed me onto the stage.
I took my seat at the keyboard as if in a trance. I’d pictured this moment so many times that now when I was actually here, I felt like I was dreaming. I looked out at my smiling friends around the table and felt all their love and good vibes. Then I placed my hands on the keys, adjusted the mic a little closer, looked up once more at the crowd, and started to sing. I’d rehearsed my song so many times, the words flowed out of me, transporting me to another place and time.
Colored lights, and microphones that glitter in the night.
The singer’s dressed in white.
She
’s standing there, acting cool,
As if she doesn’t care how many stare.
The band begins, their fancy notes are playing short and long,
Beyond the lines, beyond the rhymes, beyond the song.
I looked up and that’s when I saw him. Bruce. Standing in the back by the door. Now I knew I must be dreaming! The crowd blurred, and all I could see was him. Our eyes locked and a surge of energy went through me. I smiled and kept on singing.
Beyond the heartaches and the joys,
The stillness and the noise,
The grown men and the boys,
Beyond the song. . . .
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Singer-songwriter Carol Selick performs a repertoire of jazz, rhythm and blues, pop, and her own work, and appears as a vocalist with her husband, jazz trumpeter and vocalist Gordon James. A gifted lyricist, she partnered with Hall-of-Famer Rose Marie McCoy, a songwriter for Nat King Cole, Louis Jordan, Maxine Brown, Ike & Tina Turner, and Elvis Presley, and she co-founded and directed The New Jersey Garden State Opry and the New Jersey Children’s Opry, where she wrote and performed original songs. She holds a degree in Early Childhood Education and Music from Rutgers, and taught piano and voice for many years. Her recordings, Life is Believing in You and Just Gonna Think About Today, feature a mix of standards and originals, and she performs the bluesy vocals on James’s 2019 release, Come On Down, praised in Blues Blast as “piping-hot New Orleans fare, satisfying and spicy with just the right amount of sweet dessert!”
Visit her at: carolselickmusic.com
CREDITS
A LIFE TO REMEMBER
Words and music by Carol Selick and Johnny Brandon.
Copyright © 2002 Grenadier Music (BMI). All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.
CHAINED AND TAMED WOMAN’S BLUES
Words and music by Carol Selick and Dori Seider.
Copyright © 2021. All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.