The band played two nights in Iowa City, then onto Des Moines for two nights. I contacted my parents and asked if I could come and see them. My mother said it would be best if I didn’t since my father still had not gotten over my divorce and subsequent three year relationship with a woman. I was both disappointed and a little relieved. I did manage to convince my mother to meet me for lunch. She was stiff and uncomfortable which made me feel the same. We parted on awkward terms promising to ‘keep in touch’.

After their gigs in Des Moines, we moved on to Omaha, Denver, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and then Durango, Colorado. I had called my office and extended my leave. I had settled into the rhythm of the road and was having the time of my life. My four companions were good to be with. They all knew of my situation and were sympathetic and supportive. However, my two weeks of freedom sadly came to an end and I had to get back. After tearful good-byes, I flew out of Durango to Denver, then Chicago. 

Back in Chicago, I reluctantly went from the airport to the condo and when I walked in, I got sick to my stomach. Thankfully, my stomach was empty an all I did was retch into the commode. I felt like a stupid fool, used by that  two timing deceitful woman. I couldn’t bear to stay there and went to a hotel. The next day I went into my office and tendered my resignation. I committed to two weeks to get my caseloads and affairs in order and I was free without a clue as to what I would do or where I would go. I knew Chicago was history.

One year later

I walked out of my rented old adobe house, my home for the last nine months, two blocks off the plaza into the dazzling bright New Mexico morning sunlight. I put on my sunglasses which I learned early on to always have with me. I love living here in this amazing magical place. The sky was more blue than any I could ever remember seeing. The deserts and mountains offered spectacular colorful canyons and vistas. Sunsets were most always as spectacular as Fourth of July fireworks.

During my trip with the Movers, I couldn’t stop thinking of Santa Fe. The two nights and one day when I was there with them was enough, I was smitten. During my two weeks finishing up at the Chicago office, I had done inquiries into some firms down there. Several expressed interest, impressed by my resume, and one in particular sounded like a good fit. I flew to Albuquerque and took the commuter train up to Santa Fe for an interview with the man who started the firm and two others, a men and a woman, both close to my age, a paralegal and an office manager/receptionist. 

The interview went well. All of us seemed to fit together well. I left the interview thinking of these people as old friends. After passing the New Mexico Bar exam, I was in full swing. I loved the work, everyone was laid back, normal dress being jeans and open collar shirts, comfortable dresses and slacks, unless we were in court, then it went more business like. We had a mixed group of clients. I was usually delegated to family and divorce cases which was my expertise and my first love.

I again felt free and alive. I had nobody in my life other than my colleagues who all became close friends. I kept in touch with Russell, Hannah, and Karen.  It was like I had a rebirth. Everything was new and exciting. Santa Fe had so much to offer in culture, restaurants, and beautiful places to explore. 

I had not heard anything from Jess since I left a little over a year ago. Then one day to my surprise I received a letter from her, with a Paris postmark. I left it unopened, sitting on my desk staring at me for over a week. Over lunch on a Friday, I told my female colleague, Susan about it. She was the only one in the firm who knew about my past which I spilled out one night over dinner and too much wine.

Susan insisted , “When we get back to the office, open it. At least I want to know what she might have to say.”

“You’re just so incredibly nosy, so all right, I’ll do it, but I may need a drink afterwards,” I responded, chuckling as we walked back the single block to the office.

I sat down at my desk with Susanne sitting across fro me, took a breath, cut it open and pulled out the single handwritten sheet of paper.

My Dearest Dana, 

I have finally gotten the nerve to write this. I want you to know that I was truly in love with you. I wanted to tell you about Rémy and little Isabella many times, but lacked the courage. I am ashamed of the way all this happened. I can only ask that you forgive me for my deceit for which I am truly sorry. 

I have sold my business and moved permanently to Paris to be with my husband and child. He is an important and respected financier and my absence was becoming a problem for him. I do love him and my daughter very much and am happy I made the decision to leave Chicago and my mid-west roots for good.

I am working for a gallery here in Paris in Montmartre that specializes in rare prints so I am fortunate to be in my element. It’s not the same as running my own business but in many ways it is so much easier and less stressful. My French improves every day now. I am working on getting rid of my Chicago accent. 

I think of you often and wonder where you are, how you are, if you are okay. I pray you are doing well. If you can find it in your heart, I would love to hear from you. Please forgive me.

With love and regret,

Jessica

I kept staring it for a moment, finally letting it slip from my hands onto my desk. So many memories flooded my head, so many good and now this. I was so naive and vulnerable those few years ago. Never again. 

“Are you okay?” Susanne asked, interrupting my revery. 

“I don’t know. I feel like such a fool. This letter . . . this letter is just her bullshit, wanting forgiveness, wanting . . . wanting? ‘Love and regret?’ What does that mean? I have no idea. I’m so done with her . . . forever!” I was starting to choke up with anger, sadness and regret.

“It’s okay,” Susanne said, trying weakly to reassure me. “It’s okay. You’re here. This is now. And you’re amazing. You’ve moved on and are continuing to move on. You have friends here. Good friends.”

“I know, I know. I hear you. It’s just . . . just hard.”

“I can only imagine all you have told me. It’s weird for me to comprehend, I know. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Say nothing. I know. Everything you say is true. It’ll be okay. I was getting over all this and then she had to write this bullshit.”

“It is bullshit. Total bullshit. So let it go.”

“Thanks. Let’s go out and have dinner and celebrate tonight. Celebrate freedom. Yeah!”

“It’s a date. Let’s do some lawyer shit. Okay?”

“Hell yeah. Let’s do some law.”

Finis

God has left the building . . .

How was her performance?

Was there a sing along?

Did she have the harp band?

Or solo with only her guitar?

Did she wear her black gown?

With the high collar?

Or her white suit and flowers?

Was there screaming?

Was there gnashing of teeth?

Did the crowd wear sackcloth?

Who cleaned up the ashes?

Sorry I missed . . .

Maybe I’ll catch the next show.

Or . . . maybe not.

railroad days

freight hopping

cigarette smoke

filled

lonely box cars

rolling 

clattering

empty liquor

bottles

back and

forth with

rocking 

rolling

track steam

engine soot

from here to there

from there to here

grey faced 

bib coverall

spirit broken 

old men

from dusty

unpainted 

hobo jungle 

tin cup 

coffee empty

lost souls

going home

gone 

since

the old dirt road 

was paved.

I met up with the group at Russell and Karens’ parents farm near Iowa City that afternoon. I was nervous about seeing my ex-in-laws, but they were more than gracious towards me, making me feel more than welcome. So much had changed in the last few years since divorce.

I had neither heard from Jess nor had I called her. When she left, our relationship seemed to be falling apart. I needed, I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to try to sort things out. So, late the first night at the farm I excused myself and went outside into a little garden area with several outdoor chairs and called. It would be early morning in Rome and I might catch her. Her cell went to voice mail. She had told me many times before each and every trip she took to always call her cell, never her hotel. That never did make any sense to me, so I decided to call her hotel and was quickly connected to her room. A man answered after the first ring.

“Bonjour, c’est Rémy.” (Good morning, this is Rémy.)

“Oh, I’m sorry. They must have connected me to the wrong room, I was calling for Jess . . .”

“Oh, Jessica. Of course. One moment. Jessica, Sweetheart. You have a phone call My Love.”

A moment later she answered, “Caio, Marco? We should be there around 10:30.”

“This isn’t Marco and who the hell is Rémy and what’s with the ‘sweetheart’ and my love’ stuff? What’s going on?”

“Goddammit! I told you to never call my room! I can’t talk now! Don’t call back!” Before she could click off I heard a child’s voice, “Maman, Qu’est-ce?” (Momma, who is it?)

I stood there starring off into the night with the phone still to my ear waiting for someone to tell me it was a wrong number, that it hadn’t been Jess, somebody else named Jess. I felt dizzy, like I was suddenly transported into another dimension where nothing made sense. Rémy? Sweetheart? My Love? Maman? I felt nausea rising and I went to a bench and sat. I was barely able to breathe. 

After a few minutes with my head between my knees, the nausea and dizziness passed. I called her cell which went straight to voice mail. What would I say anyway? Nothing made sense. I had been in a relationship with this woman for over three years. She had a child? A family in Europe? Was she married? I suddenly felt like the biggest fool in the world. Six week long trips to Europe every year interspersed with numerous week long trips to New York. She was not only print shopping, she was seeing her family. What had I gotten myself into? 

Karen came and joined me, “Hey, you’ve been out here a long time. Are you okay? My god, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong?” 

My shock had turned to anger and now, with Karen, it turned to tears. I blathered out everything to her through my sobs.

“I’m such a fucking fool. How could I have been so blind and stupid? I don’t know what to do.”

Karen put her arm around me, “It will be okay. Truly. This is bullshit, but you’re gonna be alright. You’re with friends whether you believe it or not.”

We sat for a long time, not speaking. Karen’s arm around me was comforting and felt good. Things were rolling through my mind like a runaway freight train. I didn’t ever want to go back to Chicago, much less ever see Jess again. My life as I had known it was no more. 

The band was playing two nights in Iowa City. The next night I went in the to help Karen with the merch table. It was fun and took my mind off Jess. My anger with her had turned into seething hate. Neither Karen nor I had shared what had happened with the others. I tried to act normal and must have since no one seemed to notice my mood.

The next morning, Jess called, her first words, “What doesn’t, ‘never call my hotel’ mean to you, you stupid bitch. You could have ruined everything. Goddammit! Where are you?”

So I’m a bitch now? Interesting. I managed my cool, answering calmly, “I’m in Iowa at Russell and Karens’ parents farm and plan on hanging out with them for a week on the road or maybe longer if I feel like it.”

“So, what prompted that?” she asked incredulously and angry.

“They invited me, and since you’re off in Europe, I accepted their invite and took a week off to travel with them. I was lonely and needed a break.”

“Just like that?! How can you just up and leave your work on the spur of the moment?”

“I lied and told them I had a family emergency,” I answered with a chuckle.

“Dana, how could you be that stupid?! I they ever find out you’ll . . .”

I was smiling inwardly at her pathetic attempt to avoid the elephant lurking somewhere in the nether world of transatlantic cell phone connections.

“So what the fuck if they do. Right now I give a shit, Jess-i-c-a, m-y  l-o-v-e!” I drawled with an exaggerated French accent. “So who the fuck is Rémy? And Maman? You have a child?”

“He’s a friend, just a friend. Nothing more. And . . . ”

“Yeah right, ‘my love’, sweetheart.” Fuck you Jess. What are you? A fucking lesbian in Chicago and a hetro with a family in Europe? Fuck you!”

“You’re overreacting. Really. You don’t understand . There is an explanation.”

“Over reacting?! Explanation?! You’re the one with Rémy calling you ‘sweetheart’ and ‘my love’. And  who is calling you ‘maman’ a trained monkey?” I asked with sarcasm oozing from my words. “What the fuck is Rémy? A lesbian with a deep voice and a man’s name?”

“I can explain . . .”

“I’m sure you can conjure up more lies like all the lies of the last three years. Fuck you! I hope to god I never see you again. You’re dead to me . . . Bitch!”

I clicked off and turned off my phone.

That Sunday night, I went again to see Strealth Movers. There was less of a crowd with a number of empty seats. Karen noticed I was by myself and came and sat down with me.

“Where’s Jess?” she asked.

I told her about her European business trip.

“So, are you okay with her gone for so long?”

“Yeah, I’m used to it. She usually goes at least twice a year, most times not as long as this trip. She has a lot lined up for the next few weeks.”

“So, do you ever go off on a trip by yourself when she’s gone?”

“No, I just get a lot of work done.”

“Must be hard knowing she’s traipsing around Europe. Does she ever want you to go with her?”

“No. She says I’d be bored and a distraction.”

“Oh. Hey, I have to get out to the merch table and get it organized. Enjoy. See you later.”

I sat there with my wine, feeling lonely, sad, worried, and wondering. They came on stage and did another great concert, again, with all different material. I admired their professionalism and enthusiasm. They ended with two encores. I walked out and stopped to say good-bye to Karen.

“Hey, we’re all going out as soon as everyone’s gone. Why don’t you come with us?” she asked eagerly.”

“No, thanks for asking, but I don’t want to intrude.”

“You won’t be intruding. Hanna and Mick keep asking about you. They’d love to get to know you. Trust me. You will be more than welcome. Russell kept talking about how great it was to have lunch with you. Come on.”

And then the three of them appeared. Mick asked, “Where’s Jess? We wanted you two to join us to celebrate a great gig here. Sold out two nights and pretty much sold out of our CDs and T-shirts.  Celebration-is-in-order. . . !”

I briefly explained about Jess and that just made them more enthusiastic about me joining them. “Can’t have you going home alone without some partying,” Mick said and everyone laughed. 

Their insistent enthusiasm was contagious and I reluctantly relented. I helped schlep gear to their large Mercedes cargo van parked behind the venue and we headed to a sports bar Russell knew from his time in Chicago. The van had a comfortable bench seat that sat Hanna, Karen, and myself while the two guys rode the front, Russell driving, Mick shotgun. All their gear stored neatly in shelves on the sides in the cargo area and there was a blow up mattress for when they needed to do an all night run. Their energy was infectious. I was laughing with them. For the first time in the last few days I wasn’t thinking about my life. I was having a good time.

We arrived at the bar and Russell stopped to let us out while he and Mick went to find a parking spot. Since it was Sunday night, the bar was about half full. I was already planning on calling in sick tomorrow as I guessed it might be a late night.

We found a large table. The two guys joined us shortly and we all ordered a round of drinks and an array of appetizers. They seemed to be so close and happy together and I liked them all. I was also envious. 

The night wore on with them sharing stories of their time on the road and at their homes in California. Hanna and Russell had recently moved into their own place, a two bedroom cottage a little inland from the coast, after camping at Hanna’s parents for almost two years. Karen and Mick lived in a one bedroom north of Sausalito. Their lives sounded to be full of friends, fun, and a lot of hard work with their music. I became even more envious with my imagination beginning to run wild, making me wonder even more about my own life.

The margarita, jealousy, the excitement all combined to make my mind start to flicker like an old black and white movie I  saw years go. Then I was suddenly overcome by a wave of emotion, both sadness and happiness at once. I felt tears coming and I excused myself and went to the front of the bar and pulled out some tissues. 

A moment later, Hanna joined me, “What’s wrong, Dana? Did we say something to upset you?”

“Nothing anyone said, it’s everything. You are all seem so happy and fun. My life is boring. It’s going nowhere. I’m sorry. Apparently I’m having a little crises.” 

I was realizing I really didn’t like Chicago. I wasn’t as happy with my work as I thought I’d be. I was unhappy about everything concerning my life. I never wanted to go back to Jess’s place again, even though she wasn’t there but was somewhere over the Atlantic probably drinking wine and chatting it up with anyone close. It wasn’t my home It never was. She never liked any ideas I had or anything of mine I wanted to add to the collection of items on shelves or on the walls. There was nothing of me there.

Hannah put here arm around my shoulders and pulled me to her. Her warmth just made me feel worse and I snuggled in and cried on her shoulder. 

Karen joined us, “What’s going on. Dana? What’s wrong?”

I was calmed down enough to tell them what I was feeling. 

Karen was the first to respond, “Jess is gone for what, seven weeks? Why don’t you take some time off and come with us for a few weeks. You can catch a flight back here when you want.”

“I couldn’t do that. With Russell and everything, he wouldn’t want me hanging around. With our history, it would be weird, awkward. I’d just be in the way.”

“No you wouldn’t. Russell will be fine with it. I know he will. And so will Mick. Us girls run the show, don’t we, Hannah?” Karen said with a smug smile.

“Yup, we make those fellas toe the mark. Come on, Dana. This sounds so fun. We’re leaving tomorrow for a few days at my folks place and we’ll do a gig in Iowa City. Then to Des Moines, Omaha, Lincoln, Denver, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Durango, Salt Lake, Lake Tahoe and home . . . about three weeks. You can help me at the merch table. It’ll be so fun. Come on, Say yes. Please?”

“Wait, hold on. This is too much. I can’t go off on the spur of the moment. I need to give more notice. What am I saying? No. This is crazy.”

“Tell them it’s a family emergency . . .  it’s kind of an emergency. And it’s sort of like family, you used to be anyway. Just a little lie. Your firm will never know.”

“But it they ever found out . . . I’m a junior partner. I’d be blackballed from ever making partner.”

“From what you were saying earlier, do you even want to be ‘partner’?” asked Hannah.

Before I could think about an answer, Russell and Mick appeared and Mick asked, “So what’s going on here? What are you three conspiring about?”

Karen told them everything we had been talking about. 

Mick said, “That’d be cool having you along. What do you think Russell?”

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” he said with a furrow in his brow, but smiling.

“No, it won’t work. Thanks for your concern, but no. I’d just be in the way. And going to your parents house, no thanks. They probably hate me.”

Karen said, “They’ve changed about 180 degrees from when you were around. They’d probably love to see you again.”

“Hannah said, “Oh come on. You won’t be in the way. They like having Mick and me around. That says a lot. We have a ton of room in the van. It’d be so nice to have you. Really. Do we have to beg?”

All four of them started talking at once about how fun it would be to have me along, someone new to break the monotony of just the four of them. I shut them all out. I was not going to go with them. I firmly rejected their pleas and called a cab. Before I left, Hannah, Karen and I exchanged contact information. My cab was there and I left.

I walked into Jess’s condo with a new understanding that it was indeed hers and I simply lived there with her to keep her company and give her some pleasure in bed, the later not appealing to me anymore if it ever had. I needed my own place and would begin a search tomorrow.

I lay awake with all that happened rolling around in my head like a looped tape. After a sleeping pill, I went into a restless sleep awaking before my alarm. I felt horrible from all the emotional trauma from the last few days and my restless night. I got up, made coffee and stared out the window into space. I hate lying, but called my office at 8:00 when I knew the phones would be on and told my secretary that I had a family emergency and needed to be out of town for at least a week. After the usual expressions of sympathy, we figured out who could take my case load and appointments and I was free for the week.

My call to the office had consumed over an hour. I called Karen and they were already outside of the city heading towards Interstate 80 and Iowa City. I could rent a car and meet them there. Screw it. Why not. A week on the road. It might do me good, clear my head.

I called a rental agency and they would pick me up in two hours, the time I would need to pack what clothes I thought I would need: some casual clothes I had, which wasn’t much, underwear, toiletries, and I was ready to go. The rental car arrived and I dropped the agent’s assistant back at his office and headed out of town. I cranked some tunes on the radio. Every mile from Chicago, I felt lighter, freer, more adventurous . . . and scared to death.