"tonight tonight
we're gonna ride like silver
on the desolation moonlight
tonight tonight
ain't comin' back until the morning light
tonight tonight
it's alright, alright..."
the gaslight anthem, wooderson, from the album sink or swim
i woke up at six in the morning, a full hour earlier than usual, but i'd passed out around nine the night before and slept straight through, for a change none of the kids woke my fat ass up in the middle of the night, i woke up at six, dawn not even yet breaking through the drawn curtains, and out of nowhere, the tears rained down upon me.
one more day. one day away.
one more day until i got on a train down to new york city, a train that would take me on down the hudson to a meet-up with some of my oldest and best friends in the world, one more day until i got a one day pass to leave it all behind for a few hours and all i could do was lay there and sob.
i laid there and thought about all those other trips down the hudson, on the train, over the years: the trips that came every year or two, when lauren would say nothing more than go, go, go hang out with your friends for a few hours, just get back before i gotta put the kids to bed tomorrow night, the trips, to see random acts of musical grace, to see roy hargrove at the village vanguard or to see steve earle at the beacon theatre or to see the raveonettes at the bowery ballroom, or whatever, go, go, go, a few hours on the loose,
but what i thought about most of all, laying in bed drowning in my own tears last thursday, was a trip from the distant past, distant, but no matter the real-life distance, a trip i could practically taste, a trip that seemed close enough for me to touch even after all these years, a trip down the hudson in april of 1993, going on down to meet her at jfk, her first trip over here to see me just after we started "seeing" each other, i drowned in my own tears thinking about that day, about me, about us, just kids, innocent and fucking clueless and thinking, like the naive suckers we were, that love really could conquer all, we had absolutely no doubt about it, and i took the long ride out on the a-train from penn station to the airport, i had a blue backpack over my shoulder and i got there plenty early and i went into the bathroom of the british airways arrivals terminal and brushed my teeth and i waited, and eventually i saw that the flight, ba182, had landed, and i waited in the waiting area, and the passengers came on through, and i scanned the crowd for her, and after a couple of minutes she came through the door, i saw her first, she looked around, didn't see me, she wore a long flowered skirt and a white shirt and a brown blazer and a brown hat, and i saw her looking for me, and i knew right then and there that i'd marry her, and sixteen years later, she's dead and there's me, still here, and three children she brought into the world fast asleep a few feet away from me, in separate bedrooms, and it all seems beyond belief, and i laid in my bed and cried for those kids and for the kids we once were.
&&&&
the train got off on time on friday afternoon, we rolled out of the station right at twelve twenty, i found a seat at the back of the last car, on the right side so i could see the sights on the river, so i could see the mansions and the concrete factories and the bridges along the way, and we rolled into penn station right on time, and i walked along the concourse, a lot less sure of myself than i was on that april day in 1993, the older you get the less you know, after all, and after all that has happened, i realize i don't know shit, i don't know fuck-all, and i walked along the concourse and off in the distance i saw my boy dan, the best friend a friend could ask for, and we saw each other outside the krispy kreme and we embraced, celebrating, it was on, it was friday night in the city and we had money and rooms in a hotel and tickets to the sold-out gaslight anthem show at webster hall, we were in business, a free and clear friday night in front of us.
&&&&
we hit a pizzeria on the 8th ave side of the station, i got a nice thin slice of fresh mozz and tomato, dan went sicilian, as he usually does, and then we got into a taxi into the village and we checked into our hotel. mid-afternoon. walked up to a room on the fifth floor, gasping for air by the time we made it up there. no elevator.
walked around, strolled the grounds, so to speak, we walked up and down third and fourth avenues and across avenue a, and eventually we wandered into a bar called the village pourhouse, get it, ha ha ha, the pourhouse, nyuk nyuk, but they had the good stuff on tap and in bottles, and we had a few beers, the crowd a bit thin, we stood at the bar, a big mirror behind there, and i stood there and inhaled my pints, and looked up and saw, in the mirror, this older guy, a big guy, real tall, six foot four or so, and all of a sudden, to my dismay, i realized i was staring at myself.
&&&&
we got the call from michele and kevin, that they had landed in the neighborhood, and we reported back to the hotel and we waited in dan's room in the basement of the union square inn, and eventually we got a knock on the door, and they came in, and it was on, and we partied like rock stars.
&&&&
after having some cheesesteaks at some place around the corner from webster hall, we hit a bar for another pint or two, and, at least three sheets to the wind, and probably several more, we went over to the venue, and, as the song says, "this heart is on fire", fever pitch, and i fucking forgot about it all, no grief, no dead wife, no long-gone memories of what once was and what should have been, drowning not in tears but in the moment, and we secured a good spot to the left of the stage. and after awhile, after a visit to a roped-off area out front where I had a smoke or three and a pleasant talk with the bass player from the opening band, heartless bastards, about the glories living on the cheap in out of the way places in back pockets of america, places like northern kentucky or upstate new york, about the way the glories of cheap living can buy you time and a kind of freedom. eventually, i got back to my people, and the gaslight anthem took the stage, and they played out their songs, their hearts on fire, too, just some young kids from central jersey who started a band, seemingly because they couldn't help themselves. the singer mentioned watching a show from the back of the room there not so long ago, he mentioned how he couldn't believe that his band stood up on that stage now to play in front of a sold out crowd dying to hear them, hanging on their every note. and they poured 'em and pounded 'em out as fast as they could, and i got completely and utterly lost in the moment, they played as loud as they could and the packed house danced like no tomorrow and pumped their fists and sang along at the top of their lungs, and i danced along and sang along, at the top of my diminished lungs, at the top of my diminished life, and for an hour and a half or so, thanks to that sound, i lost track of it all. i lost track of my tears, alright, alright, and i wasn't just a forty-two year old widower with three kids to raise alone anymore, i screamed alongside all the other true believers and i felt youth and belief again, and the pain disappeared for awhile and we weren't coming back until the mornin' light, and we danced in the nonexistent moonlight, me and my old friends, we danced past the twilight, danced myself way alive, and everything seemed alright, alright, and i knew. i knew like i knew when i saw lauren in the airport that april day sixteen years ago, alright alright, i knew, i knew, i knew, that this heart, in spite of the horrific things i had seen, and let's not kid ourselves people, i seen some fairly horrific things in my day, i had to sit on a chair and hold the hand of my true love as she bled to death in a hospital bed, and i had to tell an eight year old boy he didn't have a mother anymore, but despite all that, i knew, as i heard these songs ring out in the new york night, that this heart, my heart, broken as it may be, can still catch fire.