BACK POCKETS

“Last Thursday I thought I’d go over to Charlie’s studio in the evening—yes, no, yes, no. I wanted to ask if he had a girlfriend. Maybe I’d find her sitting near the wall, listening while he gave his last lesson. What excuse would I come up with then? I walked up the alley, my stomach gone queasy with anxiety, and found him alone, loafing on the sofa with a magazine, waiting for his last pupil…who never came.

“Feeling shy and nervous, I told him about the run-in with my voice teacher. He invited me for a ride on his motorcycle. I clasped my arms around his waist—to my surprise it was soft—and we sped down to the Belmont inlet, full of yachts and lights and fancy restaurants, the smooth water reflecting all that lovely evening circus. Tears from the wind dried at the corners of my eyes, and I quivered with the cold—and happiness.

“Later, we had tea in a little restaurant; I asked what he did when he wasn’t playing the guitar. He asked me the same. I told him truths about myself, the best I could. When we walked out to his bike, I asked, suddenly feeling sorrowful, ‘Charlie, why does being with you make me sad?’

“He faltered, ‘Maybe it’s because I have a really good girlfriend.’ Then he leaned forward awkwardly and embraced me, hugging me tightly for a moment. I threw back my head with a rueful laugh but never took my hands out of my back pockets.”

Later I would write a wistful love song inspired by Charlie:

CHARLIE-O

When Charlie plays guitar, his sad eyes seem blind—

And he holds it as though he has a woman in mind.

Biting his lip, oh, his hands are so kind.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

She was a girl who’d never been found,

And he came on a late night boat to her town,

Singing his songs with a sad-whistle sound.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

Nights when he played in a beachside café,

She would listen a while—and then slip away.

So he sang just for her, hoping she’d stay.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

He gave her lessons, when time would allow.

They would speak of their lives—the then and the now.

And her stories stayed lodged in his heart, somehow.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

Time and again, he thought she would yield.

She would lay herself down by his ear and appeal,

And all her reserve would break like a seal.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

On a warm night she flew like a dare,

Like a moth to a flame up his back-alley stair.

But now he was gone. One bare light burned there.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

Down on the pier she searched after 9:00,

And she ran like the tide past the fishermen’s lines,

Deaf to the murmurs of bathers below.

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.

He’s bound for new towns

So he’ll never know

Tonight she dreams of Charlie-o.