Massachusets Ave

I still don't know all of the details, but I will do my best to recall. I first met her on Memorial Day. That night has been burned into my memory. Boston is a beautiful city at night, especially in the early summer. Looking at the skyline from the street, the blue lights at the very top of the Prudential Center form a ring. A ring that I see as the halo above her head. Just like I see her hand signing the 50-Foot “John Hancock” behind Fenway Park, or her lips kissing the CITGO above Memorial Drive, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Those are scenes from a photo shoot, and that was our first date, you still don't even know how we met. Like I said, it was Memorial Day, and I had recently moved to Bean town with a group of salesman for a summer program. She wasn't a native either. She was a student and a pastry chef. We grew up within 15 minutes of each other, but it was only after traveling 3,000 miles across the country that we could be at the same place at the same time. Fate? I don't believe in accidents. I also don't believe in Santa Clause, Aliens, or Love at First Sight. And that is what makes this story so unique. She had me from “Hello.” Actually, it was even before that. She had me the second I looked into her eyes. Homer chronicled the adventures of Odysseus and the siege of Troy, and he told tales of many fantastic creatures, including the Sirens. Beautiful women on jagged rocks that would sing melodies that melted and possessed any man that listened. I'm not saying she was Siren, and she certainly did not lead me to my own destruction. But I am saying that the very instant I connected with her eyes, time stopped and my life was divided asunder. It was divided into the days before I knew her, and the time since we met. I knew I would never be the same. The situation is a familiar one. Some of my friends had met some of her friends and we all decided to meet down by the river. There is a small bike path that runs along the Charles River in the middle of the city. At one point the path is framed on the North by a small park and the South by a small dock. Hippies from Berklee could usually be found smoking pot in the park or having a drum circle on the dock, but on this night, our group had the whole place to ourselves. I was among the last to arrive, and by the time I made my way to the party, it was already underway. I said my hello's to those that I knew, and had already spotted a blonde to make friends with, but I caught a glimpse of Her out of the corner of my eye. She was sitting on a wall, next to a boy with a guitar. A burly boy with a guitar. A burly boy, that I later found out routinely competed in Strong Man competitions, with a guitar. I mean, he didn't use the guitar in his Strong Man competitions, he used it to woo beautiful women, and I'm sure it worked. He was good, but I don't think he read the manual that came with the guitar, because he didn't know Rule Number 1: The guy with the guitar never gets the girl. He simply sets the mood so someone else can get the girl. I'm really glad he did, because I am sure I needed his help. When I swooped in and sat between him and Her on the wall, he should have known it was over, but he didn't. He continued to sit there and take requests and sing us love songs in the dark.


When I first introduced myself to her, she claimed to have known me from somewhere. I was certain she was mistaken. I would have remembered those eyes. I have always had a thing for redheads, and tend to seek them out. It was dark enough that I almost didn't notice hers. Almost. As I sat on that wall and talked to her, I could not take my eyes off of her. I felt an instant connection to her and I think she felt it too, because after a while on that wall, I took her by the hand and we walked by ourselves off into the night. The longer I spent with her, the more I felt she was familiar as well. Faintly. Vaguely. Almost hauntingly familiar. I remember a demonstration from a business meeting that used tuning forks. Ten tuning forks were placed on a table, nine tuned to the pitch of F and one tuned to G. An eleventh fork, also tuned G, was pulled from a pocket, struck, and waived in the air above the forks on the table. When it got near its partner, they both began to resonate, and the closer the contact the stronger the vibrations. When two things are made for each other, and they are brought in close contact, they feel it. Individually, and collectively. As I got closer to this woman, I knew I had found something special. More than that, I knew we were made for each other, and that we had found each other, and that true love was sitting with me in a bus-stop, on Massachusetts Avenue, holding my hand, and telling me stories. I eventually took her home, walked her to the door, and kissed her on the forehead... and held my breath until the next time I saw her.

"If you were with me tonight, I'd sing to you just one more time." -Jimmy Eat World