Knot Where Feelings Die

(Inspired by “Longing in Their Hearts,” Bonnie Raitt, 1994)

Framed by high desert red spires, Paul was on bended knee, a diamond in his right hand, and my right in his left. Averting the question that was about to pop from rugged lips that curved upward into high cheekbones, I held up my left palm, half in surrender, half in command.

“I love you, Paul, I do. But…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. And I couldn’t give any reason why I couldn’t. This wasn’t the response he was expecting. I was afraid—certainly not of Paul. But of something. Desperate, I searched the turquoise sky, hoping for at least one cloud on which to draw a thought. Paul’s clear gray eyes seemed now to have absorbed every last one of them. Except one. On the horizon. Jimbo’s lonely cloud.

Jimbo’s been singing about a lonely cloud my whole life. He’s Daddy friend down at the diner. The one where the old state highway runs into the interstate that usurped it. Daddy says if it weren’t for truckers making the transition from one road to another, the joint would have died long ago. He says it’s choking now, ever since a new truck stop opened about 20 miles up the interstate. He felt sorry for his friend.

Thirty, forty years ago they were roadies with the one of those bands that was always breaking up and getting back together when some guy died in a wreck. Daddy was cool with being a roadie—he liked to listen to music and travel. Until he met Mom. She was a groupie. Then he wanted to settle down. But not Jimbo. No, he was a wanabee guitarist who filled in a few times when the band was regrouping. Apparently he was good, but never quite good enough. When he came through on a tour and got together with Daddy, he met Mom’s friend Mary Jane, and, well, that was it. They got married and he got a job cooking at her dad’s diner. But all he ever talks about—still—is making it big one day.

“Lonely Cloud” is one of the songs he wrote. That was my answer to a marriage proposal?

Paul and I went back as far as kindergarten.  We were soulmates, he often said. Drift mates was more like it, a relationship that had served us well until now. Served me well, I guess is more accurate. He bought a Winnebago five years ago and we started traveling across the country.

“U-Haul, I go,” I teased. Lately he was talking about kids. Kids? We were still kids. I didn’t want to spend the rest my life in a Winnebago. With kids. What if it ran off a cliff? What if the kids called him Paw Paw? Paw Paw Paul. In a Winnebago U-Haul.

I knew what I didn’t want, but not what I did want. There was a longing in my heart for more, so much more. Maybe be an artist. Mom laughed softly when I announced that. I was five or so. She stroked my hair and said, No, Baby, you can’t be an artist. Artists don’t make no money. You be a teacher. Be a secretary. Then if you want to be an artist, then you can do it. I never did become a teacher or a secretary. Did that mean I couldn’t be an artist? I wanted to paint the mountains that surrounded Paul. But Paul wasn’t in the picture.

Maybe I wanted to live in a city. Walk to markets and theaters. My job would require that I dress up in high heels. But I’d walk to work in a suit and white sneakers. Or I’d live in the suburbs and drive a fancy car. Maybe I wanted to fly somewhere, rather than drive there in a tin can. Maybe I wanted to marry a rich man. Daddy always said it’s as easy to fall in love with a rich man as it is a poor one. Daddy loved Paul, even though he wasn’t rich. But he sure wasn’t poor. He was a mechanic, always in demand. Made good, honest money. Saved money. Conscientious. Kind. Loving. Wanted to grow old together. But I was already growing old. I saw a silver hair in the mirror the other day. I was only 27. That scared me.

Because there was a longing in my heart for more, so much more. Jimbo’s lonely cloud. I looked at the man in front of me, closed my eyes for a moment, and pursed my lips. When I opened them, the ring was gone. I drooped to my knees, too, and grasped the hands of my lover.

Let me tell you 'bout a friend of mine
He's a short order cook
Long on speed, short on spice
He reads his customers like a book
He's seen this, and he's done that
Now he's makin' fried eggs an art
But there's one thing he can't fix no how
There's a longing in his heart

He's tried for years to work it out
At the grill and at his home
Well he talks to his friends, talks to himself
He talks the chicken right off the bone.
Talks to his woman and she understands
You know they're always eye to eye
She runs the joint, they live out back
Small house under a big sky
Well even the stars at night agree
The sky is falling apart.
She knows cause she can feel it too
There's a longing in her heart

A longing in her heart
Longing in her heart

Well now you and me, we're just like them
We never wanted to be alone
So we made a pact, sealed with desire
For a happier house and home
Only to find it doesn't untie
The knot where feelings die
There's a longing deep inside our hearts
And no one to tell us why

Our friends aren't looking for anything new
They wouldn't know where to look
Well her, she likes running the joint
And he likes being a cook
Together they're doing very well
They're might glad they could
But there's a fire burning towards them now
Coming from a distant wood

And even the stars at night agree
That the sky is falling apart
We know 'cause we can feel it too
There's a longing in our hearts.