“I’ve never seen so many capers in my life,” said Soucy, staring at the top shelf of Trilogy’s pantry/greenroom sagging under the tremendous weight of condiments in bulk. Trilogy has no official backstage, something I discovered the first time I played here with my Brother (Read about that gig here).  A year and change later, little has changed.  The venue still houses bands in their overstuffed pantry with it’s jars of fava beans and salsa.  It’s not bad really. We sit on cartons of fruit and barrels of wine and snack on garbanzo beans and pickled beets.  We tune our guitars and rehearse harmonies while dodging the bare bulb that hangs low between us.

I’m particularly buoyant this night and the boys want to know why.  I’m ashamed to say it, but I’m in love.  No, no really in love.  Not obsessive compulsive Sam love, or spring fling Jack love but real to GOD, I want to get married in love — with Dean Bragonier.  How did this happen? the boys groan as if I’d managed to fall into an open manhole and not for the first time.  Their disappointment makes me giggle. They’re convinced my heart is accident-prone as I explain the circumstances surrounding what they consider another mishap and I consider true love. 

Here's The Story:

I flew to Georgia to play a show with my Mom on Amelia Island.  I had a day-and-a-half layover in Martha’s Vineyard on the way back.  It was a warm summer night and my bass player, Adam, from my old disco band, “The Boogies,” asked me to join him for the opening of a new restaurant called “Balance.”  So, in a striped aqua blouse and a brightly colored hat that I borrowed from my mama, I danced glitteringly into the town of Oak Bluffs. 

I saw him the second I walked in.  The handsome, no-named stranger I’d admired throughout my teens.  The one I frequently oogled at end-of-the-dirt-road-parties we both washed up at at the end-of-the-night on summer break.  The one who occasionally smiled an unreasonably broad grin my way but never spoke to me.  The one who lifeguarded on the nude beach I went to as a 16 and 17 year old naked girl.  The one who now, as a dashing young man of 27, I was ready to meet.  I kept track of him loosely as I went about the party, catching up with old friends.  It wasn't too hard.  He was tall and seemed to glow with an inner radiance.

When I noticed he was keeping track of me too, I thought I could relax my harnessed gaze when suddenly he was gone -- Nowhere to be seen.  With a single night on the island I wasn’t going to let my chance slip away.  I strolled outside to “get some fresh air” where I spied Adam and his girlfriend under a street lamp having a smoke.  I sauntered toward them, using their company as an excuse to scan the area for him without being painfully obvious.  When he was nowhere to be seen, I sighed, and decided it was not meant to be.

“I’m gonna head home,” I told Adam when from behind I heard,

“Do you think I could get a lift from you?  My ride left without me.”

I turned to see Dean standing just inches from my face.  His smile illuminated like a strand of brilliant diamonds.  I caught my breath.  I could see my future in the umber of his eyes.

At this point, the band rolls their collective eyes. They’re so over it. I continue.

“Of course,” I said, I may have stuttered.  “Where do you live?” I asked.

“It’s on your way,” he assured me.  Interesting, I thought, so he knows where I live. 

“That’s not interesting,” interjected Soucy, “that’s just frightening.”  I ignored him and went on.

We floated to my parked car and made small talk on the drive.  I was sure a kiss was in my future when he said, “You can just drop me off here on the side of the road. I can walk from here.”  I was stunned, a little embarrassed and slightly confused.  Was his request for a lift really just that?  The need for a ride? 

“Don’t be silly,” I retorted, “I don’t mind taking you to your door.”

“Thanks,” he seemed somewhat surprised, and I wondered how I’d so badly misread his cues.  “It’s this right,” he pointed to a paved turnoff.  His crushed clamshell driveway glowed in the moonlight.  My motor running, he opened the passenger side and stepped out of the car.  This was it.  He was going to wave goodnight to me and go inside without me!!!! What the hell?!?! I thought angrily.

“Thanks for the ride Sally,” he said, then hesitated before closing the door.  “I’d love to have a drink with you sometime if you’re not too busy,” he said.  The world froze around us, the moon sat still on the dark ocean and a smile crested like a wave in slow motion across my lips and at the very bottom of the deepest most luscious breath I’ve ever taken I said,

“What about now?” 

We were inseparable for days.

The band groans again.

“No, not like that, we just were intoxicated in each other’s company. He really is The One, guys. This is me, falling in love for the last time.”

This does nothing to quell the band’s disbelief in my stupidity and they all but throw up their arms when I say, “Dean’s embrace is where I surrender.”

“Naw, Sally!” Kenny says.  “Not again,” Soucy drops the neck of his guitar.  Delucchi looks at me disgusted, like he’s rehearsing the act of picking up the pieces of my broken heart again and Dean Oldencott (our new drummer) looks anxious, unsure of who or what to believe.

To the band, I’m the girl who cried “love” like the boy cried “wolf” and they’re sick of my adrenaline junkie, buggy-corded dives into relationship time and time again.  There’s no convincing them that this time it’s for real, so I leave it at that and dictate a set list which the boys scribble down in purple ink on the back of their garbanzo-stained napkins. 

“Nisa, SOS, Sign-o-Rain, When We’re Together, Wait…” then we go out and crush it, and Dean Oldencott is fabulous and the whole world falls into place like the last piece of a complicated puzzle.

Mark my word people, This is the last time I’m falling in love.