Easy Bravery in a Ford Thunderbird
"What's that?" I say.
"You need to go home and Google J*********'s name. He was on American Idol, and he made it in a few rounds."
So, tonight, I followed the trail to find a world-wide video of a fellow I know, singing in front of Simon and the gang on American Idol auditions in Atlanta. I suppose I'm kind of happy for him. He is my friend, I've asked him to open for me, watched him grow as a songwriter, laughed with his girlfriend about his quirks and hoped for his wisdom. But he is now living in his car, having dropped out of school. He drives around playing shows and convincing his family that he's staying with friends. I watched the video, and I confess myself.....hurt. Hurt for him. I confess myself glad to be staring at a kitchen full of dirty dishes that won't get done if I don't do them. I confess myself anxious to go to bed, because, although Kat and I are both on the mend from some bug goin' round, she is there, asleep, and I will soon join her. It won't be romantic, but it will be something more. Trust.
While I am in the happy company of soiled tupperware, my friend, whom I have hoped for, is curled into the seat of a Ford Thunderbird, and there is no one to wake him up tomorrow except one who longs to give peace to his heart. I am not one to discredit the chasing of dreams, but the bravery of dreams chased is an oft-debated point among folks who care for each other. Sometimes we delve when we should climb. The most impetuous course might not be the most intrepid.
I still hope that he gets somewhere with his music. He's good at it. I also hope he lives the adventure of becoming so attached to someone, that tearing away from them would rend the tightest seams of your heart.