Not This Time

Jon: April 22, 2013

     I was wide awake in the middle of the night, sitting at my desk, looking over old memories. Nina's book sat in front of me. It was filled with countless events that I had no reason to want to remember but for some reason still didn't want to forget. My fingers were arched in front of my face as I stared at the book.
     I'd been asleep only a few minutes ago, but something had woken me up and refused to let me go back to sleep. Words in my head that were begging to be written down, begging to be set to music and sung on an album. Words that desperately wanted to be heard by the right set of ears. As I sat up, staring at the cover of the book, the words wouldn't come. I even had a notepad out to write it in, but nothing.
     Finally, I opened up the cover of the book and turned past the blank first page to the words on the second. After all those years, Nina's twisty little handwriting still brought a small smile to my face, even if the words themselves still hurt like hell.
     For my rockstar.
     I stared at those words for what felt like an eternity. When I looked back up, though, only two minutes had passed. With a sigh, I pulled the book off my desk and cradled it in my arms as I flipped through the pages absently. I knew the story backward and forward, but I still liked to look over it every once in a while. It kept my memory of that tour pretty fresh.
     The pages fell open to April 16, 1986. The photo we'd taken in Vancouver marked the chapter when we'd recorded our duet. I pulled the old polaroid out and examined it fondly. The colors were still as bright as they'd been the day it was taken. Made sense, I guess, considering it had barely seen the light of day since then. I smiled to myself. It looked like a glimpse of a different world. I looked up and around my office for a second, trying to remember where I had put my copy of that '45. It was probably hiding somewhere in the multitude of records I had in my studio. With one last long bittersweet look at it, I put the photo back in the book and continued thumbing through the pages.
     I stopped a few chapters later and ready the first few lines on the page, just to see where I was at in the story. The memory came back as I read. Dying to hold her and kiss her and run my fingers through her new, short hair after two agonizing weeks of being unable to do any of that during the first leg of tour.
     "I just have no umph right now."
     Jon smiled a little at the phrase. And I smiled at it again, as I read. It still felt odd to be reading about myself from her point of view. Just as odd as remembering things as I read them.
     "I just want to have a glass of wine and relax a bit before I go to bed," I said, taking a step back and rubbing my tired eyes. When I looked back at him, Jon's smile had grown. He mussed my hair affectionately before taking a deep breath and stepping away as well.
     I followed him into the kitchen, where he pulled out a bottle of wine to pop open. The bottle in his hands was blue with a gold cork seal. The white label that went around it had a gold ribbon trim. Jon only turned the bottle in his hands, examining it himself, but I reached for it and took it from him before he could open it.
     I turned my chair and leaned down to look into my little wine cabinet, hugging the book to my chest as I did so. There were four bottles in there. Three had exposed corks, the fourth was still sealed with a faded gold seal. I opened the cabinet and pulled out the sealed bottle. I had taken this bottle out of Nina's apartment after she left. It was one of the few things of hers that I'd kept. Still not really sure why.
     The gold color of the seal was losing it shiny enameling, but it was still intact. The blue glass gleamed in the light of my small desk lamp. The real treasure, though, was the label. It was faded now as well, but a large cluster of grapes graced the side, next to the word 'Riesling' in big, fancy letters, with the word 'Germany' and the year in smaller letters beneath that. The top and bottom of the label were lined with an old, golden-colored ribbon.
     I seemed to recall reading somewhere in that book that Nina had made the label herself for a wine from 1435 that Matt had given her for her birthday. I hadn't noticed it back in '86, but now as I examined it a little closer, I recognized Nina's handwriting on the smaller letters. I held the bottle closer to the light so I could see the year a little better. I'd never looked at it that closely before. Sure enough, the pencil marks Nina had used to disguise the year were pretty much gone. Where the label had once read 1985, not only her original pen strokes remained, making the year 1435.
     I set the bottle on my desk as well. I eyed it suspiciously for a moment before returning my attention to the book in my lap. I flipped through some more chapters and landed on Christmas 1986. I didn't even have to start reading that one before the memories came flooding back. My folks had loved Nina. Even my brothers had enjoyed having her, especially for that snowball fight. If I remembered correctly, Tony had been recording it until Matty absolutely clobbered him with a snowball.
     I paused. Tony was always recording back then. Nina had to have been in the video that year. I vaguely wondered if my folks still had the tape. They didn't even live in that house anymore, so it was really anyone's guess. I looked up at my clock. I'd have to ask them sometime when it wasn't three in the morning.
     I was about to close the book and get started on why I'd gotten out of bed in the first place when I noticed the corner of a paper sticking out of the pages near the back of the book. Without thinking, I turned to that page and almost instantly regretted it. I rested my hand on the wrinkled paper and closed my eyes against the pain of that memory. I had gotten over most of the memories over the years, but the letter Nina left was still always a punch to the gut.
     I didn't dare read the letter itself again. I very consciously avoided looking at the date. It still made me angry that Matt hadn't even tried to match her handwriting. I held the letter aside and scanned the pages that detailed the afternoon when I discovered Nina was gone.
     My own handwriting stared back at me, just as it did in every second chapter throughout the whole book. I had noticed it the very first time I'd read it. In fact, it was one of the things about the book that troubled me for years, but I had long since come to terms with the fact that there would be some things I would simply never understand about the book or the woman who wrote it.
     I took one momentary glance at Nina's letter as I put it back in the book. The paper had been flattened from the weight of the book after all those years, but the wrinkles of being crumpled and uncrumpled countless times were never really ironed out. The paper was soft from years of wear. With a shake of my head, I closed the book and stood to put it back where it belonged on my bookshelf.
     Apparently I held it a little too loose, because other scraps of the past slid out of the back cover and onto my desk. I set the book aside and started looking through my souvenirs of Nina sightings throughout my life on the road. One was a matchbook from the bar where I'd last seen Nina. Back in 2006 when she had looked like her world was imploding. I never did understand why she'd looked at me that way. I set the matchbook back inside that back cover and picked up the little red paper.
     That was the valet slip from the party I'd been to in 2004 when I'd given Nina that necklace back. I wasn't really sure why I'd kept it. Probably because it was the only thing I had to remember that occurrence. Same with the concert ticket that was still laying on my desk. It was really the only thing I could keep from that concert in 1996 where I'd danced with Nina onstage. I was the only one in my band that believed that woman actually was Nina, but I knew it was her. In the same uncanny way I'd been able to tell it was her in 2004 and 2006. Familiarity, I guess.
     The last thing that had fallen out was a photo of me. I sank into my chair once more as I picked up that photo and stared at it. I would never forget the day it was taken. I'd been in New York for a photo shoot, but I hadn't wanted to be anywhere near civilization that day. I'd wanted to die that day. Dotty was the only reason I'd been able to get through it without exploding or breaking down. It was Nina's birthday. The first one since she'd left. I'd been looking forward to taking her out. But she was gone.
     It really wasn't a great picture. I'm sure they'd used it anyway, but it wasn't the best. I don't even remember how I got the copy of it, honestly, but I'd kept it for some reason. In this photo, my left hand rested awkwardly on my hip while the right one just hung there. I guess I had tried to pose on the spot when the guy raised his camera. I remembered thinking we were done, so he'd caught me off guard. The sparkly scarf tied around my head was a curious choice. Same with the purple scarf tied around my waist...with a belt. Oh, no. Sorry, two belts. I grimaced at the look back then. What happened in the 80s that we let ourselves dress like that?
     The eagle shirt and ripped jeans I would wear again many times that tour, once I'd realized that all the extra stuff was just weighing me down onstage. The scarf on my head was the only thing keeping my hair off my face, so that usually made a comeback too.
     But it was my face that was the thing. I couldn't even tell you what expression that was on my face. I was tired, drained, but trying to keep it together. I was an emotional wreck that whole tour and that photo was taken before tour had even started. Nina's disappearance was still so close, back then. Even though Dotty and I had gotten back together at that point and I'd pretended to have moved on by then, I could see it in my face that it was still killing me to think about her.
     I blinked and, with a deep sigh, dropped the photo into the book as well. Another memory I hadn't thought about in years. Another memory I didn't really want to spend more time on. I closed the back cover and pushed the book away. I was tired. I wanted to get back to bed, which meant I needed to get those words out of my head so I could fall back to sleep.
     I pulled my notepad over in front of me and picked up my pen. For a minute, the words continued to evade me. I tapped my pen against the paper a couple times, trying to figure out what it was that had woken me up. I had to get those words out of my head or I'd never get any rest.
     I looked over at that book one more time. Our story, mine and Nina's. That's what this was about. I sighed and shook my head a little. Why did it always come back to her? I stared at the page for a moment. At the top of the page, I wrote "Dear Nina."
     Just like that, the words started coming. All the words in my head flowed onto the paper in one go. When I was done, it definitely wasn't a complete song, but I was okay with that. I could always refine it later. The point is that they were on paper. I set the pen down and reread with a pleased nod.

     There's a room at the end of the world where my secrets go to hide.
     Where I'll wait for you tonight.
     Where the roads all go to end.
     Where lost valentines get sent.
     Where a rose comes back to life.
     Where young love never dies.
     Where we never say goodbye.
     There's room at the end of the world where your memories are safe.
     You've just gotta have some faith.
     Where all prayers go to be heard and the truth will have its turn.
     Take a look into these eyes, there's no place I'd rather be tonight.
     There's a room at the end of the world that I hang on to.
     In our room at the end of the world, I'll wait for you.

     I stared at the lines for another eternity. Something about them seemed right. I hadn't seen Nina in years, but somehow she still inspired more songs than she probably deserved. These were more words dedicated to her, too, but these were different. They were like the final words before I finally let go once and for all.
     They felt like closure.
     "Jon?"
     I looked up at the sound of Dotty's voice. She was standing in the doorway in her robe. I set the notepad down and rubbed my face, exhausted now that those words were out of my head. Dotty was stepping into my office when I dropped my hands.
     "Another song?" she asked in a knowing tone. I smiled a little and nodded. She knew me so well.
     "I'm done now, though," I said gently, reaching over to turn out my desk lamp, "I'm coming back to bed."
     "Yeah, you need the sleep or Shanks will play circles around you in the studio tomorrow," she teased as I got up and stepped around my desk to join her by the door.
     "Shhh." I put a finger over her mouth and shook my head. "It's too early to talk about tomorrow." Dotty giggled a little and gave me a sleepy smile. I leaned in for a quick kiss. "Come on," I whispered, "Let's get some sleep."
     She nodded and with that, I put my arm around her shoulders, she wrapped hers around my waist, and we guided each other through the dark house and back to bed.