Sunday, September 18, 2011

Like a Rolling Stone

Liam is an interesting guy. Our new room mate is a talented artist that can feel his way through life. It's a window into a different way of life. He spends a lot of time trying to understand his gut.

I understood the potential future as we hung out in Mimi's living room. Mimi was out of town and had left us to tend to her house. As a way of celebrating our apartment search, Ciera and I invited Liam over to have a barbecue. We cracked open a couple of beers and barbecued some kebabs. We relaxed and talked outside as the gray day turned into a kind of gray night. It was fine, a few drops here and there, a quiet northwest evening.

Later, when we had switched to wine, Liam sat at the piano and sang covers of classic rock songs. His raspy voice, perfectly in tune with his very natural and flowing way of playing the piano filled the room. His version of “Like a Rolling Stone” had more than a passing similarity to Bob Dylan's original version but of course added his own musical talents and personality. Having a personal concert performed for Ciera and I was a moving thing. It was a flash to the time of Jane Austen; when pre-recorded performances didn't exist, when people played for friends and family live.

I felt the year thus far. A few simple chords and the weight of graduation and the uncertainty of starting out on my own came entered the room. The room was full. Full of music. Full of the year to date. I was warm and comfortable, despite the uncertainty.

I woke up the day before. Ciera didn't have work until later. She refused to wake up and so I sang loudly, and poorly, to wake her. It is nice to know that I don't have to be embarrassed singing in front of Ciera. I love singing, but I can't do it. I improvised a song about waking up. She laughed and got up, we made coffee and we continued the hunt to find a home for ourselves. Happiness is not predicated on the comforts we surround ourselves with.