Starguardts, Chapter 1

Starguardts
By Lauren Swanson

PART 1____________________________________
UNABRIDIDGED
So according to this baby book we've been listening to, you can only see as far as my face. Considering that I'm the one who is legally blind, it's kind of funny that I can see better than you. Then again, maybe the world is out of focus for both of us.
What do I see? You know I've always had trouble describing that because I don't really know what 20/20 looks like. My vision isn't correctable with contacts, but being in constant contact as your pacifier and food source helps us to get up close and personal. I may appear to have a lazy eye but that's only because I haven't had a lot of sleep since you were born. You are like a little weight that isn’t really heavy until its several hours later, and then my muscles start to ache. You are ongoing, physically demanding labor. Hey at least I will have amazing biceps by the time you are two right? Just call me Non Profit, because motherhood is definitely an unpaid and under rated position.
I see a white crib that hasn't been used because if I put you down you wake up your Nana at night. But that means that every night is mardi gras because all I do is lift up my shirt and go back to sleep. The Doctors say not to sleep with your baby, but hey I don’t have a 240 pound man in my bed to roll over on you, so we’re good. If I stir you startle, and when you startle I stir, so between the two of us we are training each other to recognize the other’s needs.
Contrary to Nana's arid air conditioner, it is supposedly 90 degrees outside,. My friends are feeling out the miseries of single life by going to the Country Western bar tonight without me. In case you didn't know that's unheard of since I'm the northern country girl. But I'm lucky to have a baby who keeps me home from life risking behaviors such as riding a mechanical bull or line-dancing with strangers. Plus , you can’t get any more redneck than being a single mom right?
You really seem to listen to me. Can’t say I’ve had such a focal audience before. I usually prefer to write all my thoughts out on a computer. I'm not used to being a rambling woman, but they say talking to your baby makes them smart. What should we talk about? Well I guess I could tell you the story of how you came along. Do you want the abridged or unabridged version? Actually, this would probably be the only time in your life when I can tell you the whole truth, because you won’t remember any of it. Maybe this is far sighted, but this could help me gain perspective on the events that made you into the apple of my eye.
In hindsight, I do not regret you, I just regret my own decisions. Is this postpartum, or do I just want a post pardon from you? You're going to have to learn how to talk, and talk well kid. So, once upon a time, Mommy went to visit her best friend in a beautiful land called Miami...

Breaking ground in Miami with a freshly pierced belly button, there was really nothing better to do than crash an international film festival party. Securing glasses of white wine in our let’s-get-dolled-up-for-dinner dresses, my friends and I did not exactly disguise our excitement. Hey, it wasn’t every day that we infiltrated a Miami must. Perfumed in pop-culture with a different diva on her skin every day, L.A played off of her initials and golden goddess appeal. Tickling the crowd with her quick wit and laws-of-attraction smile, L.A reinforced her new Director boyfriend’s unfinished high budget independent film about a disgruntled hand. Following Hand-Man was the whole reason why she was in South Florida, while I was still anchored in our college town of Saint Petersburg. Like the palm trees swaying, this little trip she had planned was her way of trying to sway me to follow her. It was working. L.A. wasn’t just one of my best friends; she was my soul mate sister, the Sun that I practically revolved around. Those four hours between us felt like being drastically north of the equator, and I was so happy when my friend offered to go drive and see her.
"Hey Mini." Intuitively, L.A. beamed herself into my arms for an all embracing hug. Having the ability to read people, she always seemed to know what I was thinking. LA was a budding astrologer, and since I was a Gemini, we had jokingly established my twin personas as Gem and Mini. Currently I was Mini, who we had defined as introverted, introspective, emotional, sensitive, passionate, kind, empathetic, thinks of others before herself, cries, loves whole heartedly, but can be scared, fearful, and insecure.
Detaching from the hug first, I assembled myself in a less than glamorous position towards the midway entertainment so that I could construct some sort of casual commentary. Impersonating Bette Midler, a high-strung head of highlights named Tizzy with watermelons worth their weight in gold suspended the audience with her mistaken for a transgender features. As proof of our adventure, L.A streamlined us over to the stage to prep us for a novelty picture.

Continuing the night’s spontaneity, I became Gem, my dominant, extroverted, sexual, confident, protective, witty, driven, and externally unemotional twin persona when I announced to Tizzy that I too was a singer! With her dark red lips and black hole for a cleavage, she imbedded the question, “Well what have you done?” Swallowed up by the notion that my embellishment now needed evidence of its pursuit, I hiccupped something about karaoke and college performances.
“My studio is in Ft Lauderdale. Follow me and we’ll see what you’ve got?” Ocean waves engulfed the neighborhood sounds like a silencer as L.A and I navigated through Tizzy’s back lot with nothing but high-rise hotel window lights to see with. We dangled on the idea that we could be like flies entering a spider’s den, but decided to cut the line to our spider senses.
Inside, a fluffy white dog and a flaming red headed elderly woman gaily greeted Tizzy with the same long day away from her look.
“Say hi to the girls.” Tizzy commanded, and Bust, the little white dog with a comparatively big set of equipment like Tizzy, jumped up in our arms. The redhead however shook as if petrified of having company.
“Are they out there, Tizzy?” Was that a German accent?
“No Ma that was just thunder.” Tizzy put up her hand as if that shielded her mom from knowing what she was saying. “Ma grew up during the war and always thinks the Nazis are after her.” The woman looked around cautiously than pointed at an overly augmented painting of Tizzy that protruded the fact that it was sized to scale.

“Tizzy gets those from me!” She patted her chest proudly though it was kind of like comparing a mantel piece nativity and a life-sized reenactment.
The computer screen flashed us with a man’s face. “Girls, this is my Dickson, and boy do I love my Dick!” Cue our humoring laughter. “He is the sweetest and most wonderful man I have ever met.” Tizzy gazed at him lovingly, than wheeled her black desk chair around to face me. “So let’s hear what you’ve got?”
Now, Mini skittishly hopped into some choreographed moves, but it was Gem who took the lead on vocals. This song is called playboy bunny.

Playboy Bunny
I’m all ears,
For a fluffy tale,
A gullible girl,
To a charming male,
But in the end,
You can see right through their clothes.
A roll of quarters,
And some dollar bills,
Aint worth working,
My sex appeal,
All I want,
Is for someone to be real.

Chorus-
But if you wanna buy me,
Buy me some time,
With some sincerity,
Complexity,
Don’t’ put me in the spotlight,
And say that you’ll make my night,
I don’t come for free,
I aint no Playboy Bunny."

“Oh my God! You are an amazing writer. Ha! I could sing that in one of my shows! I perform a lot in Wilton Manors, and the gays would love it!” Impressed with my lyrical framework, Tizzy began to lay out an idea. For someone so engorged in themselves, the word “little” was ironically welded into every phrase.
“Honey, I am going to do something very gracious for you since you are young and beautiful and naive about this business that you seem to want to get into. I am going to be your music mother. You will be my little Chickadee and I will take you under my little wing. Guide you like I wish someone had done for me. Ya know someone on your side, in your little corner. I have so many contacts and we will just put together a little contract so I don’t’ get buried when your little wings get strong enough and you take off. It will just be for any contacts I bring to you. I’m only asking for a little bit, like 10%. Most agencies charge 30; and of course I would step back at the appropriate time when you needed further representation. I just want my little paid off piece of pie. Capeach? Now I'm going to be the one that makes you famous. No seriously, you're going to be big. I know this guy who I have been friends with for like 20 years. Honey, we’re not talking small time people here. This man is a music monster. Have you heard of Gloria Estefan? How about Shakira? What about Reba Macantire? Eli has worked with them all! This man has a discography of over 400 mainstream records to his name. Just Google his name and you’ll see. He is the best! This is your lucky night, because without me you could not afford him.” Tizzy cackled condescendingly resembling Miss Piggy.
Back at LA’s house, we pulled up Google, and couldn’t count the number of hits associated with Eli’s name alone. L.A skimmed his musical resume for ones I would actually know. Outside of country music, I was pretty sheltered musically.
“Oh Lovey, he was the keyboardist in Regina Belle’s soundtrack version of “A whole new world” in Disney’s Aladdin, and Vanessa William’s soundtrack version of “Colors Of The Wind” in Pocahontas!”
“Wow!”
LA played the Aladdin song. Even though I wasn’t really into slow songs, I jumped up and offered my hand to L.A. With a theatrically romantic gesture, she thrust out her hand, and I pulled her gracefully to her feet. I was about four inches taller than her, and I always had to lead when I danced.
“I’m so happy for you Lovey!” L.A put her arms around my neck as if we were two kids slow dancing.
“I missed you so much! I love you!”
“I love you too Lovey!” Our dance came to an end, and we just hugged.
Just then, Hand-Man came home.
“I think we’re making him jealous.” I whispered. L.A. pulled me close to her.
“Yeah, he and I are so different Lovey. He’s a born again Christian, and I like to kiss girls. He hates my astrology readings, and would rather I pick up a bible. I’m 24 and hot, and he’s 35 with a kid, short and balled.” I laughed, and covered my mouth. “He’s not my type at all, but Oh Lovey, he is an amazing Director, and I am so in love with him, it’s weird! I better go say hi to him before he gets mad.” L.A squeezed me, and walked over to Hand-Man, who was indeed looking disgruntled.
The next morning, when I called Tizzy to see when we could go to Eli’s studio, our conversations went like this.
First call: Hi Honey! Let me call him and see if he’s up. You know Musicians and their late hour schedules.”
Second Call: Okay I am not going to have you work with him. I’ll have to find you somebody else. This man is crazy. He has a history of using drugs, and he has gone downhill. I can’t take it anymore. Hold on, let me call you back.”
Third Call: “Okay here’s the address. Everything is okay. I‘m a good person, and I am just trying to be a good friend and bring him some business because he has had his share of problems and is trying to get it all back again. Meet ya there.”
Skepticism could harden any idea before it had a chance to flow, but Tizzy had already cast my curiosity into stone. The idea of recording one of my songs was light years past my apartment performances in the wee hours of the night with my two harmonizing Siamese backup singers. I did not exactly have 350 dollars to drop on a demo, but my mom was willing to start me off on my music career. She was impressed that this Eli guy had worked with Gloria Estefan, only her favorite singer.
As we gassed up the car with nerves, baking by our own hot breath hyperventilation, L.A and I were able to clear our minds when we rolled down the windows at the infamous Eli Manor. Architecturally, the studio was simply a converted garage attached to a Spanish style ranch house with a kidney shaped pool that was surrounded by an inner courtyard. It did not exactly project professional Producer. To even excavate the inside you had to cut through a corridor of two rooms with the doorways covered by black curtains, the apparently unfinished design of what was going to be vocal booths, and pass pillars of dirty clothes piled on the washer, dryer, counter space, and floors. However, a curtain of candle and cigarette smoke unveiled a composite worthy of the Stars.

There was a music console that spanned the widest width of the room. Over ten keyboards were mounted like trophies on stands three on each and then one sitting beside one of two computers in the room. Padded like a mental institution, the walls and ceilings were covered with foam which apparently muffled the voice for recording. Celebrities with their arms around Eli hung near a large hanging microphone with a wide circular screen in front of it.
“Iris, hey Baby, how are ya? Eli hooked me into a hug then stared at me. (Drawn out whistle) “Wow… ya know you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen? Seriously they’re killer?” His voice had the vocal training of a speaker or story teller. Wait, was he talking about my eyes? Next, he hugged L.A, and I studied him. For some reason I had envisioned this semi famous musician to be dressed up in concert tails. Instead, Eli was casual and chill as he had us sit down.
“I hope we’re not keeping you from something. You and Tizzy were having some problems?”
Eli very noticeably rolled his eyes. “That woman is crazy. I love her and she is my best friend, but she can really drive me crazy sometimes. It’s not you, Baby. I am glad you guys are here.”
“Okay good we’re excited to be here too!”
Eli looked at me from across the keyboard. “Wait so if we’re going to do a song together, I have to ask why don’t you look at me when we talk?” Eli didn’t’ miss much.
Gem grabbed Mini, and shook her saying, this man could change your life. Don’t be that little girl you get reduced to every time someone asks you that. Be confident, and just say it!
“I’m visually impaired.” My eyes tried to focus on anything besides the fact that it was uncomfortable to be measured by the assumptions of this label. It was not as if I could just quickly explain to him that my disability inhibited me from making eye contact, viewing small print, far distances, minute details, some skew in color vision, and recognition was sometimes affected.
“So if I was giving you the finger right now, you wouldn’t know right?” Eli laughed and turned toward L.A. “Man I thought she was nervous. I was trying to say something funny. Hey that means you can’t see what I look like right?” Eli gestured to his round stomach.
Picking up on the amusement in his tone, Gem knew I had to punch in with a punch line. “Oh I can see you. You’re wearing a gray shirt and a blue baseball cap. Can’t see what’s under it but hopefully there is hair under there.” Mini looked mortified as if she had just dumped coffee all over a celebrity.
Eli sounded the comedic joke drum sequence on his keyboard, and then stood up to face me. “Okay, look at me how you would look at me, no seriously don’t turn away. I want to help you here. How can we get you to look like you are looking at me? Eye contact is very important when meeting people in the business, and if we can get you to fake it then we might have something. Try looking to your left, a little bit more, perfect you are looking right at me.”
No I was looking away, and couldn’t see his face behind the centralized blind spots in my eyes, but hey apparently I could appear to be aligning with society’s version of eye contact. This perfect stranger was trying to help me with instant introductions, and no one had ever tried to teach me that before. How superlative!
Pushing buttons, turning knobs, fingers merging with the keyboards, Eli turned up his speakers, and knocked out a cadenza of hard to play piano pieces. Suddenly there was a Spanish guitar playing through the keys, than the lonesome twang of a steel guitar, abruptly halted by a haunting symphony of strings, a silvery section of flutes, swing dancing horns, then pulsing hip-hop drums. I had once had a Casio keyboard of my own, but the different drum sounds of each key had always boggled me. However, like learning to type, he had memorized where every sound was located, and his whole body kept in time with his hands. Without missing a beat, he snared off the keyboard, swung a set of drum sticks, and demonstrated his ambidexterity of musical talents on the real drum set by the kitchen door. Back at the keyboard he commanded me to sing.
In his presence, I felt like a raw and unfinished instrument with the building blocks of pitsacado melodies, verses, and choruses that he instantly conducted into a structure of powerful vibrations. No wonder they called music producers engineers for they were the architects that erected musical monuments out of dreams. A complex instrumental was developed in less than an hour.
Tizzy made her grand entrance into the studio with a long drawn out story about why she was late. Eli poked her enormous breasts in greeting, and they both walked out of the studio. Craving some tea, L.A and I went looking for the kitchen. At the sink, a woman in a tank top and shorts introduced herself as Eli’s sister, whom I would later call Hiatius. She gestured for us to say hello to Papi, Eli’s 90 year old father at the table. Wow! He was older than my grandmother! Wow, okay well maybe there was a really good reason why Eli was still living with his family. L.A. looked at me and we both giggled. The sliding glass door opened and Eli and Tizzy came in giggling too. As Eli opened the fridge, Daliela spit something in Spanish about comidas, food, and he slammed the door dismissively. Picture time!
Back in the studio, we put our arms around Eli, and grinned stupidly. I tried my new eye trick, and when the image came up on the digital camera, I was looking dead ahead.
“You’re a great photographer Tiz,” L.A said critiquing the picture.
“Oh thank you Honey! I really want to take some photos of this little one so I can get her started in her singing career.” Tizzy took L.A’s arm. “Ya know I also know an agent who could find you some acting and modeling gigs.” They stepped outside to the pool area to talk. Meanwhile, the vocals took another couple of hours since Eli had made some alterations to my melody. When I laid down my attempt at a country rap, Eli was taken with an idea. In one take, he played my vocal track, and with the microphone in front of him added his own improvisational lines in a deep almost black man’s voice.

Rap-
“Yo Baby”: Eli
I’m the insatiable, edible, completely always capable,
“Why you like that?”: Eli
Of workin it, perkin it, you might as well be jerkin it.
“Come on stop!” Eli
Cus I’m a tease, who’s tough to please, and you’ll never know, when I’m at ease,
Unless of course, you make the most of those chromosomes of yours.
“And I will!”: Eli
But look at me, a travesty, an old man’s fish net fantasy,
“I’m not old.”: Eli
You eat me up like eye candy, and on the stage, or in a cage, I just can’t breathe,
“Stop!” Eli
I’m not a whore, but less is more when it comes to making money,
I’ll take it away but don’t’ you dare say I’m just a Playboy Bunny.
“Oh!” Eli

Listening to the final product, LA hugged me excitedly. "What an awesome song! That was amazing! I'm so proud of you Lovey!" You could hear the giddiness in our voices as we ran around posing by keyboards, the microphone and music console for an improvisational photo shoot. Eli was handed the camera, and then we became the entertainers. Cuddle shot flash, face to face holding hands shot flash, LA startling me by the console flash, LA kissing me, flash, my hands up on her boobs giggling, flash, and finally the sitting on Eli's lap shot, flash. Eli must have been confused because he asked if we were lesbians. Nah, we tried to "date" for a week, but truly we were best friends. Besides, we both liked men too much, so if anything it was bi-curiosity at least on my part.
.Eli got up to use the bathroom and smoke a cigarette. Pacing around the pool on his cell phone, he defied the laws of inertia when he paused in front of us.
“Hey Iris, do you have the money with you for the song, because if you do we can go out to eat, my treat?”
L.A and I both smiled, and I pulled out my wallet to retrieve the 350. The sweat on my legs came to a bubble in my boiling, overdressed jeans as I eased onto an oven burner of bran new leather in his black Mercedes Benz. An Onstar lady suddenly spoke richly to us as Eli demonstrated the different features of his tricked out car. Simply knowing that we had a 24/7 on call voice made us feel safe as we pulled up to a driveway with a high, chipped white paint gate.
“Keep the doors locked. I just have to get a CD from a client before we go eat.” Eli slipped out, and I wondered what kind of client he was working with in such a bad neighborhood.
In control of the wheel again, Eli asked me how old he looked. His hairline was still covered by his baseball cap, so I didn’t know. “I’m seventy; don’t I look good for my age?” He grinned. “Yeah, you really do!” I didn’t question it since he kind of had a grayish tint to his skin. His eyes rolled, “Man, this girl thinks I’m seventy! I’m only 47; did you really think I looked 70?” Blush red and having really insulted a musical genius, I turned away embarrassed. Luckily, L.A caught the back of our seats with her hands and steered the conversation into an astrological interlude.
“So when’s your birthday Eli?” Ah, he was a Scorpio just like her. “What time of day were you born?” Uh-huh, ok, he was an Aries rising! Cue the ephemeris! Like an avid Christian with her bible, L.A pulled out her astrology book, which could predict a person’s personality based on how the planets were aligned.
“Wow, this is amazing! Being a Scorpio/Aries rising, you are very powerful, but wait, wow, all your planets are in the most powerful positions!”
Eli shifted around in his seat, and smiled.
“You are trined, which means you have a triangle of signs in your chart, and this means that you have the potential for greatness, that you are very lucky, more capable than most to have fame and fortune, as money comes easily to you.” In the rearview mirror, Eli’s pupils began to dilate and widen.
“You have a Sun-Neptune conjunct, which on the positive side means that you are very psychic and intuitive spiritually. On the downside, Neptune is the planet of escapism, deception, addiction to substances like alcohol or drugs and the Sun symbolizes you. So since they are conjunct, it means that you sometimes live in fantasy, which you perhaps lie to yourself about things.” Eli sniffed and rubbed his nose. Apparently he had allergies.
“Generally, Scorpios are spiritually deep, loving even after death, interested in the supernatural and mysteries of life. They are very private, and don’t like people knowing their business. They are sensitive, passionate and intense which can be geared toward the greater good or steered negatively into jealousy, possessiveness, or revenge.”
His voice boomed off the garage walls as he bulldozed through her last words.
“Haha, trined ey? I like that. You really have a gift. You totally just described me. Listen, money has always come to me. I used to have two of these Benns, all these beautiful Britling watches and diamond studs in my ears. No joke I had five rooms of beautiful furniture in a lake front house that I paid for in cash, but the thing was, I used to do crack, and I smoked it all away, but now I’m gonna get it back! I am so back in the game. Baby, you need to get some cards made up, and I will totally promote you by giving them out to all my music business clients.”
L.A. beamed, and I smiled
“I like the numbers 8 and 7 so when should I play them in the lottery?” For me, Astrology made me think, but I was not a full believer. It was kind of like our fun musical game where we would ask questions like, is he thinking about me? Then we’d push the random radio button to see what song lyric it would land on.
“That’s numerology Lovey. I need to learn more about that, but maybe I can channel the answer for you since I’m psychic!”
Eli put his hands out like a symphony conductor. “Let me tell you something. Once I was on one of those computer messenger chats when I came across this woman who called herself a psychic. So I am talking to her and she tells me to put out whatever I am smoking. Dude I was smoking, but she couldn’t see that! Now what really freaked me out was when she asked me who the woman was that was walking around me. I was the only person in the studio so I was like uh what woman? And do you know she described my dead mother!”
“Oh My God!” L.A. interrupted Eli before he could say anything else. “I didn’t want you to think I was crazy, so I didn’t mention it, but when you were playing Lovey’s song I saw an Angel behind you. She was giving you energy while you were playing with her hands on your shoulders!”
“Wow… See that’s my mother at work guiding me.” Eli was freaked out staring at LA who beamed proudly at herself.
I hated to go back to Saint Pete. L.A just had this natural knack of connecting with people. Now she wanted to write music with Eli too. Great so he was going to forget about me, the girl who was again 4 hours away! When I talked to Eli, I asked him how it was working with L.A. He told me straight up that she didn’t have the ear for the notes, and her lyrics were not even in song format. I on the other hand was a great songwriter, and if I paid him for my next song he would use it to fly me there. Whoa, that was really generous! Time jetted me to the door of L.A and my new little town house an hour away from the studio. We were singers now, recording our albums with a famous music producer!
Now being our flirtatious in our mid-twenties selves, L.A and I would playfully, banter back and forth with Eli at studio sessions.
“Hey Lovey!” said L.A loudly, “You and Eli should hook up. Think about it! He’s an experienced man, who uses his fingers for a living. We could date older men together.”
“Oh My God!” I blushed, but you couldn’t tell because of the sunburn on my face. She was always making boyfriend suggestions to me, although usually they were in private!
Eli just smiled, and unlike every other horny little toad, he surprisingly did not add in his own suggestive comment. He was a flirty and outrageously funny guy, but he never tried anything with us, and we felt safe with him.
L.A jousted me with her elbow teasingly whispering, “Look at him play. I bet those fingers have more than musical talents!”
I parried back, “Ya well he would have to get those hands ensured with a policy, because they’d be overworked with me.” L.A. knew that no man had ever given me the big O before, and she seemed to be on a mission!
Overhearing our discussions, Tizzy had surrounded the subject of falling in love with Eli with metaphoric red tape. She said that unlike most men, he was given the most personal parts of a woman’s heart, her life’s lyrics, and could interpret her soul with his hypnotic sound. If there was one thing she would have liked to have been told it was that we must always be careful who we give our bodies to and who we lay down with. That she had been so much in love with him, and it had only caused her heartache. Eli’s story of their relationship was a little different though.
“I met Tiz at a Miami Lakes complex Christmas party. We both were into music so I invited her over to my studio. Back then she was young and thin, and she would walk over in a long trench coat with nothing on underneath. She was never my girlfriend. I haven’t always been the best guy, but through thick and thin Tiz has always been by my side, stuck up for me, gone through my shit with me and for that she is my best friend.”
So Tizzy had an interesting rendition of music theory, but Eli was almost twice our age, and we only had a platonic admiration for him.
Besides as Eli knew, I was already unrequitedly in love. My lyrical diaries had been converted into a song trilogy of the triage between my Rockysun, and his ex girlfriend, L.A.
At the time, I could have written a book about that. She had met him while visiting me for my college graduation. He had just finished his freshman year, and had no where to go for the summer. He was hot and knew how to mind fornicate her, so she invited him to live with us as her new boyfriend. LA used to tell me his secrets including the one about how I looked like a girl he used to date. Not just that, but he had actually walked in on this girl performing intimate acts on his mother. Wow, now that was a mind fuck, a transference that I had no control over.
Rockysun would challenge me by saying “you see better than you let on.” No one ever called me on that before. One night alone in L.A’s car, he showed me how to shift the gears and it was as if our feelings had shifted gears too. The simplest things like rollerblading in the dark together so we could go play midnight basket ball was so empowering and scary all at once. I didn’t have the best night vision so I was more or less completely dependent on him to lead me down the dark sidewalks and try my hand at lowlight, low-vision basketball. He was the one who told me to never let anyone especially stupid ex boyfriends make me feel dumb as a box of rocks, because I had crystals of wisdom inside and he knew where to look. Whether I fell and he caught me, dances to country songs, or borderline back massages, he was always finding platonic ways to touch me. In my songs, I had written about the guilt and denial of loving my best friend’s boyfriend. The presumptions that we danced around which grew like water in a pothole, and became this wrecking ball of emotion. His teetering indecision to choose between the two of us separated L.A and I for a whole year until we finally found ourselves thrown together to forgive each other. L.A got over him, but for me Rockysun became like a note in a bottle breaking my shore once a year. He’d earth quake through my heart, and his repercussive shock waves tore through my emotions. But now what had been jokes about Eli had started a new ripple pattern for me.
Eli and I started talking on the phone more, and hanging out whenever he could borrow his Dad's white Cadillac to pick me up. His black Mercedes Bends, which he had taken LA and I out in at our first meet and greet had been “turned in” involuntarily, but hey I couldn’t drive either so I wasn’t judging. The fact that he was willing to arrange a ride, drive an hour from Miami to pick me up at our new townhouse in Weston FL, and drive all the way back was a sound beginning.