Whacking Poetic and the Notes to My Future Wife

Chapter 5

Forever Chest
Fortieth Anniversary Card

My dear wife,

Forty years ago I had a fantasy that I never shared with you. I imagined that on this anniversary, after being married to you all of these years, you and I would be able to go on a simple date together and smile into each other's eyes like teenagers at the prom. I know that this is not a fantasy in the lurid Cosmo headline sense, but it is driven by a craving that builds momentum over time and inspires a youthful vitality that arouses us enough to get out of bed only long enough to flirt with each other over breakfast.

Forty years ago I followed you around like a lovesick schoolboy. Do you remember the first time we held hands? Do you remember the first time that we kissed? I hope that we never let go of those initial feelings and that no matter how old we get, we can always step back and remember.

Do you remember Mack and all of our fights from the old days? I can't believe I shared the stage with that crude buffoon for so long before everything crashed down. I am so glad that you and I survived the storm that was Whacking Poetic. While that was a difficult time period, it was also the time period that I learned the most about myself. Simply put, I learned that I could not live without you.

Happy anniversary and congratulations on forty wonderful years of marriage. Surely by now you realize that my schoolboy crush on you will never waver.

Love,
Sam

"Let's get it started in here..." blared in a cappella over the P.A. as Matthew began playing the Black Eyed Peas hit before the energy in the yard could dissolve. After a night of jazz, Broadway hits and their quirky rock band, a college party atmosphere had appeared. By the time the drums had entered and the song had shifted to more of a rap for the verses, the dancing had begun. Sam watched with amusement. He had long ago accepted the injustice of pop and dance music. This was crap, cynically created to manipulate the masses, sort of like an advertising jingle only instead of selling soap or shampoo it sold coolness. And yet there they were, dozens of music majors, all taught to know better, gyrating their hips and bouncing up and down awkwardly. He wondered if there was any musicology research on the effects of a dance beat. Beethoven could bring people to tears, but it could never evoke this kinesthetic energy.

"Sam Aaron, world famous rock star," Sarah said as Sam approached. She was now sitting at a picnic table with her friends. Her smile faded to concern. "Xavier told me what happened. You look like you are taking it hard."

Sam paused, trying to smile. He was on a quest for a ride home and some stimulating conversation to take his mind off of Alex and Phil's bad news. He shrugged, hoping to downplay what happened. "Yeah, we were kicked off the island tonight."

"But you were great tonight. Someone else will sign you." She had a small brown leather bag over her shoulder now that she didn't have earlier. It looked like he caught her just before she left.

He looked down. After years of optimism he didn't know if he had it in him to keep going. He needed to come to terms with his promise to quit. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure that this was my chance. My mom has been hassling me for my entire life about it. Now she can say I told you so."

She leaned forward and touched his arm. "Never give up hope, Sam."

He flinched. "Hope? Really?" It had been too long of a day for him to tolerate unrealistic optimism. "What was it that Nietzsche said? Hope is evil because it prolongs the torments of man?" Then he cringed as he realized how pretentious that sounded. Normally he saved that bullshit for Jeremy.