San Francisco Dreamin'
19 September 2007
Catholic Folk Mass Redux
I have been wondering what ever happened to Ann. She introduced me to the music of Joni Mitchell and Judy Collins, and yes, even John Denver. I was quite naive in 1972 - not like I am today. Then, I was young and fresh, a guitar slung on my back wherever I went. I'd earn a bit of money at the local coffeehouses singing folk tunes. I could sing much better than I could play, but then, it was a package deal.
Ann was a year older, and seemed so much wiser than me. She was catholic, and was active musically in the catholic church. On Sundays, the priest at St. Francis had the traditional 9 o'clock mass. But at 10 o'clock, they also allowed for the more popular folk mass. I'm not catholic, but I could sing, and sing well. But Ann could really play. Her fingers would work those guitar strings. Listening to her play was wonderful - as though the music was magic - it was entrancing. She had a talent that just couldn't be learned. It was her gift.
We spent nearly a year together, but I knew I just couldn't stay. Although I was 300 miles from home, I was still too close to my parents. And living in the closet with Ann was driving me crazy. Loving someone, but never acknowleging that deep, sweaty love was insanity. But in 1973, it seemed there were few choices. The economy sucked, so by then I had applied for a position with the postal service - woo-hoo. Now there was something to look forward to.
What to do? Stay in school? I had just completed a year of commercial photography school - it just wasn't what I had thought it would be, although I learned a lot. And, it has served me well to this day. Still...
I left home. I joined the Navy. Saw the world.
Often I wrote to Ann. Sometimes she'd write back. The letters finally stopped coming, she didn't answer mine any longer. It hurt, but I was distracted.
Life goes on.
Twenty years later I came across her parents' old phone number. I rang it and her mother answered.
"Hi, do you remember me?"
"Well, of course I do, hon. How are you?"
We talked a while, and I learned that Ann worked for a parish in Seattle. Her mom gave me her number there. Should I call her? What on earth would I say? Well, the truth is always good, I was thinking of her and thought we might re-connect as old friends. Simple as that. I dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Hi! do you remember me?"
"Yes. How did you get my number?"
"I talked to your mom. She gave it to me. How have you been? Gosh, it's been a long time."
"I'm surprised she gave it to you."
"Surprised? Why?"
Silence.
"Ann, I just wanted to re-connect. You know, look up an old friend. That's all. Maybe we could get to know each other again."
"Why? Are you dying or something?"
"Uh, no. Well, it seems you're not interested in re-connecting."
Silence.
"Okay, I get it. That's really sad. Bye."
"Bye."
Talk about a cold-call. I think that was the chilliest call I'd ever had. Icicles. Nothing like the warm person I recall, but then we all change, I suppose. We had left our friendship on good terms, I had thought. Her coldness surprises and saddens me even now.
Fast forward to "today." So, the Pope dies. Brings to mind those small experiences with the catholic church, so many years ago. I go online and google Ann's name.
Look at those hits! It turns out she's a pastoral assistant of youth ministeries.
Ah, perhaps now things make more sense. She doesn't want anything to do with me because I could "out" her. How goche.
Sometimes old friends are just old.
There's a hole in my heart where a friend used to be.
Ann was a year older, and seemed so much wiser than me. She was catholic, and was active musically in the catholic church. On Sundays, the priest at St. Francis had the traditional 9 o'clock mass. But at 10 o'clock, they also allowed for the more popular folk mass. I'm not catholic, but I could sing, and sing well. But Ann could really play. Her fingers would work those guitar strings. Listening to her play was wonderful - as though the music was magic - it was entrancing. She had a talent that just couldn't be learned. It was her gift.
We spent nearly a year together, but I knew I just couldn't stay. Although I was 300 miles from home, I was still too close to my parents. And living in the closet with Ann was driving me crazy. Loving someone, but never acknowleging that deep, sweaty love was insanity. But in 1973, it seemed there were few choices. The economy sucked, so by then I had applied for a position with the postal service - woo-hoo. Now there was something to look forward to.
What to do? Stay in school? I had just completed a year of commercial photography school - it just wasn't what I had thought it would be, although I learned a lot. And, it has served me well to this day. Still...
I left home. I joined the Navy. Saw the world.
Often I wrote to Ann. Sometimes she'd write back. The letters finally stopped coming, she didn't answer mine any longer. It hurt, but I was distracted.
Life goes on.
Twenty years later I came across her parents' old phone number. I rang it and her mother answered.
"Hi, do you remember me?"
"Well, of course I do, hon. How are you?"
We talked a while, and I learned that Ann worked for a parish in Seattle. Her mom gave me her number there. Should I call her? What on earth would I say? Well, the truth is always good, I was thinking of her and thought we might re-connect as old friends. Simple as that. I dialed the number.
"Hello?"
"Hi! do you remember me?"
"Yes. How did you get my number?"
"I talked to your mom. She gave it to me. How have you been? Gosh, it's been a long time."
"I'm surprised she gave it to you."
"Surprised? Why?"
Silence.
"Ann, I just wanted to re-connect. You know, look up an old friend. That's all. Maybe we could get to know each other again."
"Why? Are you dying or something?"
"Uh, no. Well, it seems you're not interested in re-connecting."
Silence.
"Okay, I get it. That's really sad. Bye."
"Bye."
Talk about a cold-call. I think that was the chilliest call I'd ever had. Icicles. Nothing like the warm person I recall, but then we all change, I suppose. We had left our friendship on good terms, I had thought. Her coldness surprises and saddens me even now.
Fast forward to "today." So, the Pope dies. Brings to mind those small experiences with the catholic church, so many years ago. I go online and google Ann's name.
Look at those hits! It turns out she's a pastoral assistant of youth ministeries.
Ah, perhaps now things make more sense. She doesn't want anything to do with me because I could "out" her. How goche.
Sometimes old friends are just old.
There's a hole in my heart where a friend used to be.
Labels: that girl
posted by Tawanda at 9:10 PM
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