Webs of Song

Just another typical Valentine’s Day for me.....

I remember the sun. Yellow, round, hot and bright. The moon was round too. Cold. Cold nights and full moons.

…his hands play piano

his voice touches my soul…

It’s almost lunchtime or dinner. I haven’t seen the sun, the sky in so long. It could be day or night. I can usually tell by the meal. Except that lunch and dinner are so close in format and I can never remember how long ago breakfast was. It doesn’t matter. I have my music. In the music, I can be anywhere at anytime. I don’t need anything. Just the sound of his voice. He sings. I listen. That’s the way is and will always be.

…piano man how I love you

piano man much too wild....

He didn’t have the nerve to tell me about his wedding. I heard about it from the radio, after the fact. I was sick. That was my first attempt. I almost made it except that my husband came home early to surprise me by fixing dinner for us. It was Valentine’s day.

What a sight! Blood all over the bathroom. If he could have ignored me, he would have. He couldn’t stand the sight of blood. The joke was on him. I had had a rough day at the office, I told him, and laughed uncontrollably. Then I broke down and cried as I watched him cleaning up the blood. I was crying, not for me, but for him: on his knees cleaning my blood.

“Elton John was married today,” I said.

“What?”

“In Australia.”

“What?”

“Elton John was married today in Australia, with a lot of yellow roses to a woman.”

“You tried to kill yourself because Elton John got married?”

“You’re missing the point.”

“You’re sick. You don’t even know this man. Why don’t you grow up and get some help. You’ve lost your mind.”

Our eyes met. I had never felt such hate and disgust for one person. I left him mopping up my blood and went into the living room. Turned on the stereo full volume, side one of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and fell fast asleep.

I heard the phone ring. It was dark now and I was quite hungry. Four rings. I must be alone.

“I’ll get it,” I yell to no one.

“Hello, I would like to speak with Barbra Richards.”

“This is she,” nice accent, I thought.

“Barbra, this is Elton.”

“Could you repeat that please?”

“Listen Barbra, the press, the wedding, it’s not true.”

“Who is this?”

“Barbra, it’s me.”

“Elton?”

“I wanted to tell you before you heard second hand. There was no wedding. I promised to be true to you. Remember?”

“You’re not married?”

“Of course not. The Australian press is getting to be worse than the British press.”

“When are you coming home, Elton?”

“Soon my love.”

“I love you, Elton.”

“Barbra, Barbra, wake up. Wake up, Barbra and come to bed. It’s four o’clock in the morning. Tomorrow isn’t Saturday. It’s a work day.”

“What? Oh god. It was only a dream. I can’t even trust my dreams.”

…piano man leave me dreamin’…

But the dreams wouldn’t go away. Two and three times a night a week we’d meet in exotic places for candlelit dinners, passionate lovemaking or just talk. He would always play for me. And at the end of each encounter he always, always, always gave me a single yellow rose. Red for blood, yellow for love, he’d say.

Eventually, I had to face reality, but not right away. I was not the woman Elton was going to spend the rest of his days with, but at night he was mine. I began sleeping more and more. Finally, I wouldn’t get out of bed. Well, why should I? I was involved with the man of my dreams, and what could reality possibly have to offer?

…take my fate for a ride…

When I was thirteen and impressionable, I heard a song called Daniel. I cried – I just sat down and cried. I had never heard anything so beautiful. I had feelings just wash over me. I couldn’t move. The DJ said it was Elton John. That was the beginning. A steam of dormant feelings burst forth. After that I was a goner.

I would stop whatever I was doing when I heard the first notes of one of his songs. In my bedroom, I would gasp, shriek or scream when his songs were announced. One day I was in my bedroom reading some fan magazine, listening to the radio and Daniel came on. I shrieked in ecstasy, my mother, came running in to see what was wrong. I had never felt so wonderful and she wanted to know what was wrong. What a lesson! Pain and ecstasy are really the same. She left the room when she found out that the culprit was only a song. Only a song.

That Christmas I got exactly what I wanted. Everything the man had ever recorded. I could hear Daniel at will and experience those feelings over and over again.

…magic man how I love you

magic man of the band….

He sings. I listen. That’s the way it is and will always be. In my room here, at this place, people visit me. My husband even comes by. He brings me yellow roses. Does he think I’m mad? He pretends he’s Elton. He should be shot for impersonating a gentleman. I know he’s not Elton. Where’s the accent? I think he wants to prove that he loves me. We should switch places. He’s nuts. He doesn’t love me. He feels responsible, which is an improvement, he used to feel burdened. He should see himself as I see him – no never mind, he could never face reality.

…magic man leave me dreamin’

of my fate in your hands….

After surviving the trauma of Elton’s marriage, I decided – we – my husband and I – decided to go to graduate school. A change of scene, a change of pace. Well – he wasn’t excepted anywhere, but I was. I went, he stayed and technically we were still married. I was studying religion and he was studying other women. The news came – ELTON IN CONCERT. I had been too young for the Yellow Brick Road tour, but here was the Breakin’ Hearts tour. I was gonna be there. I phoned my husband.

“Elton tickets go on sale Saturday down there, get some.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“What do you mean do I think it’s a good idea?”

“It hasn’t been that long since…”

“Since he was married? Yes, I know. Get the tickets, please.”

Saturday arrived. I phoned.

“Are you up?”

“Not yet.

“Tickets go on sale in an hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

Should I trust him? No way. I phoned him back a couple of hours later.

“Did you get the tickets?”

“They are sold out at the box office. I will have to try one of the outlets. Now don’t worry, I’m doing the best I can.”

The best he can? No wonder I’m worried.

He calls me two hours later.

“I got the last two. Top of the auditorium.”

Top of the auditorium. I wait ten years, ten years to hear Daniel live. Top of the auditorium.

…let me ride on your music…

He opened with Tiny Dancer. I was mesmerized for two and a half-hours. Then he was gone. Gone where? To the arms of another woman? How could he make love to me for two and a half-hours and then leave with someone else?

I cried all the way home. Bitter, angry and hurt. I laid down beside my husband wondering who had been in my place the night before. Empty and alone, my husband reached for me. I thought it would be all right. It wouldn’t take long. I could pretend that he was someone else.

Then he kissed me, put his tongue in my mouth and I threw up – in his face, in the bed. I rushed to the bathroom, locked the door and cried. This was my life and I hated all of it. I hated the man I said I'd love forever. I loved a man I'd never know. It was all so disgusting. Then I saw the razor blade and it was all so clear.

…as I dance to your rhyme…

I passed out or so they say. I actually believe that my soul took a journey. When it came back I was in the hospital staring up at a lot of smiling faces.

“What are we smiling at?” my husband asked in a sickly sweet voice.

I wasn’t smiling, they were.

If they only knew, I thought. Then I decided that it didn't matter if he or anyone else knew. I was already strapped to the bed. I felt safe. So I told all those smiling faces where my soul had been.

…let your rhythms enchant me….

Cold coffee and stale toast, breakfast at last. I’ve been here for years, living meal to meal, receiving flowers from a loony who claims to be a rock star, but legally known as my husband.

They take good care of me here. I always have the latest music, the latest news. Sorry I missed the auction in London. I’d have given a lot for something he touched and even more for something he had on his body. It’s hard to get away these days. Who would take care of the music and magazines? They're almost like children – our children.

I’m better off here. Still the music hasn’t been the same since I've been locked away. I guess he misses me. But I’m sure he understands why I can’t be there. This new album, Reg Strikes Back, is pretty good. I like it.

What’s this? A new People magazine? The fairies must have left it during the night, I mean the night nurse.

Oh my god, it’s over. The marriage is over. Rest. I can rest now. I’ll sleep and he’ll come to me again. This time I’ll prepare so there won't be any interruptions. Dim the lights, turn the music on softly. I’ll just undress and then lay down under the covers.

I’ll take a single yellow rose with me, so he’ll be able to recognize me. In case I’ve changed or something. He’ll be here soon, now that he is free. Won’t they all be surprised to find me gone?

Peace at last.

Union with my soul.

Complete.

He sings. I listen.

That’s the way it has always been and will always be.

…make my heart come alive…

Just another typical Valentine’s Day for me.....