Today is the day.
The eighteen year anniversary of the day that Brian, in his unwavering persuasiveness, convinced me to sing a duet with him in front of 300+ people. In a church.
A song that we'd practiced while sitting on the gentle slope of a roof just outside the most adorable balcony, Brian with the guitar and me holding my cat Betty. We'd sung; "you can cry on my shoulder, and when the mirror tells us we're older, I will hold you and I will be here" until it had very quickly deteriorated into "crying on my boulder"... and more variations of the same.
But on the particular day, in the particular church, with the guitar grasped with some sincerity and no kitty in sight.... the pressure to sing strictly of shoulders, commitment and eternity made me squirm in my bustier.
Then Brian's voice, strong, beautiful, irrisistable- carrying bravely on:
And I will be here
To watch you grow in beauty
And tell you all the things you are to me
I will be here
That same beautiful voice has been with me all these years. All the nights when I cried on his shoulder. And the nights when I curled away from him- impossible miles away in a double bed. The voice that talked me into much riskier things than two minute duets. The voice that for times fell silent, discouraged, buried, exhausted.
At times we've entered back into that duet.
We've lost sight of love
turned the laughter into crying
and watched the sun disappear.
But Brian's voice has always grounded me.
Has always brought me home.
And the duet has carried us back the other verses of
being together, being here, and being true.
(Happy 18th Anniversary, cutie pie. Your voice has been my home for all these years. And if you need to, you can cry on my boulder any time.)