Fools Rush In

            Well, it seems I’ve gotten out of being a designated driver all the time. I wrote about that on my tumblr here, if you care to read it. But I have to focus on something else right now.

On Saturday, Charlie’s parents invited us over for lunch, since Hannah can’t really make dinners with her performance schedule. They had over their children, of course, Marie, me, and then Adam, Carrie, and Fred. But unfortunately, I didn’t have an excuse to get out of it like I did last time. It was easier in a group, at least, than when I’ve had to be the fourth wheel to my roommates and Fred (which is much worse than being a third wheel, believe me). I could distance myself by playing with my nephew outside while they got lunch ready, and didn’t need to worry as much about the complications of being with the adults.

            But when it came to the sit-down part of the afternoon, I couldn’t help but be overcome with sadness, though not the usual kind I’d been feeling lately. It was just…watching Charlie and his parents and Marie talk to Fred and get to know him more, I realized I’d never get that same opportunity. I know Fred from eight years ago, but I’ll never know him as he is now, at least not to the extent everyone else can. We’re far worse than being strangers, because strangers have the opportunity to get to know each other, become friends, perhaps something more. But we don’t have that opportunity. What we are is far worse. We are perpetually estranged.

            I had to get out all of these feelings, and so after the meal, I played their piano. I only have room for a keyboard in my apartment, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to put my fingers on real keys, especially since I feel strange about going over to my house like I used to, before Adam and Carrie moved in, to play on my mom’s baby grand. I played some of my favorites—Sara Bareilles, Regina Spektor, Missy Higgins—and let myself get lost in the music and even found myself singing, which I usually only do in private.

            I was so involved in the music that I didn’t even notice anyone had joined me until the clapping began, right after I’d finished playing and singing Sara Bareilles’s “BreatheAgain.” Sometime during that song, the group had moved from the living room and into the front room with the piano to hear me play. Adam and Carrie were right behind me, with everyone scattered down the room until there was Fred, lurking in the back, looking very unhappy to be there, but had no choice as everyone else had decided to join me.

            Adam and Carrie complemented me on my playing and said they would love it if I came to play on the piano at my house for them. I blushed a lot and stammered out that I didn’t know anyone was listening to me, and apologized for my mediocre voice.

            But my embarrassment wasn’t just that I don’t like people to hear me sing. It was that having them listen like that had felt like my whole soul had been on display, even if they weren’t aware of it. But Fred would understand that what I’d played wasn’t just a song I liked. He knows how I relate songs back to my own life, and that song bore everything of who I am right now. He’d be able to connect the pieces together, if he tried.   

            When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, they insisted on having me play something else. That’s when Charlie’s dad told me to go back to the classics, something for the old people in the room. I said I didn’t know anything that old, but Charlie said, “Yes you do, Anne. You always play that Elvis song—the one about fools falling in love.”

            Everyone but Fred and I were enthusiastic about that request. I tried to say I didn’t remember how to play it, but Lucy said she remembered me playing it just a few days ago. I had no choice, really, but to perform. I planned on just playing the piano, but then Charlie’s dad shouted, “Come on, sing!”

            So the words came out of me.

            Wise men say only fools rush in

            But I can’t help falling in love with you

            Shall I stay

            Would it be a sin?

            If I can’t help falling in love with you

            That’s when Fred left, using the bathroom as an excuse to escape our song. Yes, about nine years ago, two months after we started dating, Elvis Presley’s voice crooned from our radio in the car. Fred smiled at me and said, “I think he wrote this song for us.” I smiled back and asked, “Oh yeah, how so?” He said, “Come on, isn’t it obvious? Everyone says that it’s too soon to know, but I do. I love you, Annie, and I can’t help it.”

            I felt like I was soaring, because for weeks I’d felt the same way, but had been too nervous to go too fast. With the ice broken, it was so easy for me to say, “I love you, too.”

            And now this song is nothing but pain. We were fools, rushing into things, getting each other hurt. It’s not nearly as beautiful as Elvis made it out to be.