“Your crazy heart,
my crazy love,
repent now – how many times?”
She bought cigarettes just because she liked to watch me smoke, my fingers close to my lips, the pucker and pout around the smoking vessel, the way I left lipstick stains on the tip, a reminder that I was actually there. She brought me bottles of whiskey to drink straight from the bottle, claiming that it would help me write better, that it would channel the greats as if I’d transported back to the time of Miller and Nin, but I think she just liked the way the warm liquid made my inhibitions slip. She took me to back alley cafes, the kind the seemed transported from an time long gone, film noir caught in a five booth restaurant with Sinatra playing on the speakers, and French accent waiters winking as they took our order. She said she wanted to show me the way life could be with her, every move a calculated strategy to turn my gaze away from anyone but her. She wanted me to see she was better than any man ever could be. She tucked a ticket in my hand, a passageway across the ocean, kissing me goodbye at the airport drop-off, her eyes begging me to give up the gypsy life and just stay. I never could figure out why she didn’t just come along with me, the two of us escaping into that late January unknown, We would have never looked back, we would have never returned. Instead she stood there watching me go, waving sadly, disappearing from my view until she was nowhere at all. It was never the same when I returned. She was never the same.
But this song, it was the one she played for me the first time I let her lead me back to her place in Echo Park. The day I’d let her kiss me in the darkened parking lot. The day it all began.
23 :: Blonde Redhead