"Where have you been?" I heard a sweet voice whisper into my ear late one night. "I've missed you." The sound of that voice was like music to my ears. I put on a great big smile as I lay there in the warm arms of my husband.
"Oh, I took a wrong turn somewhere and got lost for a while. Thanks for leaving the light on for me!"
"Thanks for coming home," he said, and held me until we both drifted off to sleep.
Drifting was something we did very well. We drifted from place to place, trying out different occupations. We each took turns being unemployed, while the other worked on something new. We were living from paycheck to paycheck, but we weren't in a rut. We were never going to let that happen again. This time, if one of us found ourselves doing something we hated, we had the other one's permission to stop! This kept things interesting, but it didn't provide much security.
We had each vowed to always keep one eye on a dream, while keeping one foot on the ground. We were both willing to make sacrifices, in order to help one another get one step closer to our hearts' desires.
He loved racing. His job search was a desperate attempt to find work related to that field. Usually, he was working as a mechanic in an automotive shop, and giving free time to a local race team. Note . . . the emphasis on free.
As for me, I needed enough freedom in my schedule to allow me to perform. Waitressing was the most flexible job I could find. Most famous musicians started out as waitresses, didn't they? It was a great way to meet people. The more people I met, the greater the potential for an audience at my upcoming performances.
Once in a while, someone would turn up at one of my performances and put that old idea back in my head. The one about getting a Grammy some day. I wasn't playing my music to make it big anymore, I was playing it because it made me happy. It made me who I was. When I didn't play, I just wasn't me. Of course, there was always the possibility that someone else might be interested in performing my stuff. Now, that would be quite a compliment!
Wasn't I the lucky one to have such a supportive husband! It wasn't hard to convince him that we needed to move, one more time. If we took my songs to Nashville, someone there would surely see that they were worth something. Maybe I could get some published," I announced, "then we could use the money to buy you your own race team!"
"Hey! That sounds like a great idea!" he said. So we loaded up, and we went.
Of course, we would have to get real jobs at first, just to pay the bills. He found a job as a mechanic and I found one as a waitress. Sound familiar? I found Nashville intoxicating! Just looking at the skyline, or walking on the streets downtown, made me feel like I had arrived! It didn't even bother me, much, that I was going to work in a pair of shorts that were made from less material than it takes to make a placemat.
As long as I got to take my turn on stage, any stage, I was elated! This was Nashville! You never knew who might be out there listening! Of course, I had to wait my turn to perform. If you showed up early, and stayed until closing, you might be able to play for the kitchen staff while they closed the place down.
I was so busy trying to be in the right place at the right time, I barely noticed my husband, lying flat on his back. It seems it is somewhat of a hazard, to stand in a bent-over position, for long periods of time, especially while holding onto heavy objects. He was out of commission. I didn't think it was anything more than a minor setback. He would be back on his feet in no time! "It can't be too bad," I thought, "he isn't complaining."
"Is there anything I can get for you on my way back?" I would ask, while I packed up my guitar and got ready to head out.
"No," he would reply, "I don't need anything."
It just didn't seem like that big of a deal. I guess it was a guy thing, but he tried not to let me see his pain. I would find out, in a few years, just how big of a deal your back could be.
Usually, when I sing, I don't hear any voices. They seem quieted somehow. During the period of my husband’s crisis, that changed. For some reason, they were stirring again. It seemed they were trying to tell me there was more to this than meets the eye. They were reminding me of how my husband had been there for me, when I needed someone. He was my rock. It hadn't occurred to me that sometimes a rock can crumble. He was obviously suffering from more than an injured back. He was seeing me with the freedom to do something that made me happy. He was wondering if he would be able to sit up and watch a race, let alone go to one.
Those voices. They were telling me he needed me. He needed me to tell him everything was going to be all right. He needed to be able to tell me how much he hurt. He was determined to beat this on his own, but I needed to offer him my help.
"I want you to know I'm here for you," I said. "I want you to lean on me."
I want you to . . .
. . . call me friend."