Rock Hard Love(13)

She looks upon me and lays me bare with her fiery gaze.

I am powerless before her, a broken, willing slave.





~6~



“What’s this?” I asked. The poem was beautiful if not a little dark.

“That’s James Turner 101, little girl,” he said and then picked up a remote and music came from unseen speakers. James sorted through songs I didn’t recognize until he found the one he wanted. He motioned for me to join him. “Take off your shoes and get comfy,” he told me. I did, seeing no harm in it. As I sat, a soulful song slowly built in volume and filled the room. Two guitars sang in harmony, one laying down a steady beat, the other rising and falling in tone. I felt something, emotion, sadness, longing. Then James’ voice joined the guitars over the hidden speakers and the man next to me whispered, “Listen.”

I did and I heard a story of a man who longed for a woman. The story, as well as the music became more and more intense until I heard the words I’d read on the wall. I looked at James as his recorded voice filled the room, filled with an angst and pain that I could feel to my core. I wanted to cry as the lead guitar wailed as if feeling the same sadness I did. As the guitar solo ended, the story continued. The woman those words referred to was dead and gone and the man in the song took his own life to find her somewhere beyond. The lead guitar wept again as the other, James’ guitar, pounded out a relentless beat that slowly died away as if it was the man’s heart slowing and finally ceasing to beat as he died.

I looked at James and found him staring at me already. I felt a tear run down my cheek. “Did you write that?” I asked.

“I did. Those lines came to me one night as I drank myself into a stupor. Sylvia, my ex, had left me and I had nothing. I mean I had it all, but I had nothing worthwhile. I’m the man in that song,” he said. I looked at him, my face grave.

“You didn’t…,” I asked not wanting to finish my thought thinking the worst.

“No, it’s a metaphor. I felt like I wanted to die but that night the old James did die in a way. I went in search of that dream,” he explained without really explaining anything.

“You quit drinking?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’d lost everything important to me. I was rich, famous and adored but none of it brought me any joy or satisfaction any longer. I decided to change things and I wrote the rest of that song in rehab. I left the drinking behind and went in search of something more,” he clarified. Why did I suddenly feel like I was the woman in that song even though that wasn’t possible? Maybe it was the desire in James’ eyes or the way the song tugged at my heart. I wanted to soothe his pain and make it all better suddenly but James found another song and it shattered the feeling.

“Enough of that,” he said as a loud, rowdy song filled the room. At first, it sounded like a jumble of notes with no real pattern. However, as I listened, really listened, a pattern emerged from the cacophony. James’ voice roared as he sang, angry and intense and I began to discern the words. It wasn’t just random yelling as I’d assumed. Instead, I heard another story, a dark and frightening tale, but a story nonetheless. The lead and rhythm guitars spoke too, each in their own way adding layers to the story. I felt the anger within me as I listened and in a way, it was a release. As the song ended, I was breathing hard and clenching my fists but I felt cleansed somehow.

“I’ve never listened to this kind of music before. It’s not just noise, is it?” I asked already knowing the answer.

“Nope. You’re learning, little girl. Did you feel it?” he asked and I knew what he meant.

“Yes. It made me angry but it was liberating somehow, cleansing,” I admitted.

“Exactly. You think it feels good hearing it you should try singing it. It keeps me sane,” James told me. I was as amazed at the music as I was the man. He, like the music, was so much more than I thought. He wasn’t just a rock star. James was intelligent, thoughtful and emotive. However, he was still brash and rough around the edges. James was a series of contradictions and I found myself freely wanting him suddenly.

I wasn’t ready to beg him as he suggested, but I saw past his persona and found the real James Turner and I liked what I saw, much to my surprise. James was soulful, kind-hearted man that lived life on his terms. Maybe it was the music and the emotions it spawned, but rational thought was nowhere to be found. My baser needs ruled. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, inexperienced at this kind of thing, but James seemed to sense the change in me. He moved closer, mere inches from me, and stared into my eyes. I could feel his warmth through the space between us and the anticipation was palpable.