”“May I have two please?”“You are a guest in our home. You can have as many as you want! As you see we have honey butter, I also have maple syrup, real not flavored, and various jams and jellies.”“Paul, if we don’t retire can we play here more often?”I must have had the strangest look on my face because he looked at me, eyes wide and then looked at Lynn and Erin.“I’m serious. This isn’t a gig, this is like coming home to play with friends.”“Damn! That is the last thing I thought I would hear from a man that has played all over the world, in stadiums of over 100,000 people, and who has sold tens of millions of albums.”“Paul, I don’t know your history, but we have been on the road for more than half of our lives. I mean that the actual time on the road and doing gigs is more than half of my life. If it would not cause a riot I would play in clubs of 100 all over again. I love to see the faces and how the music touches people. The guys feel the same way. So tonight, when we go on, I. Something had stirred me. I lay listening, straining to hear a sound. Nothing. Not a whisper in the trees. Not the mice in the attic. It was the silence of a tomb. Can you imagine that silence? A quiet so complete that your ears bleed from the strain of listening… and your head aches from trying to recall the sound of her voice… and then she whispers. Did she whisper before? ‘Do you dream about me? Tell me the truth. Do you dream you are with me?’ And I turn my head, and I open my eyes, and I peer into the darkness where she lay… once lay. And I can smell the musky stain of her body, giddy, replete, and see her skin glowing, and feel her stretched-out heat beneath the bed-sheet. When was that? Did we ever have that? How many nights since she lay beside me? I try to remember. It must be hundreds. I lay on my back and I stare wide-eyed trying to cleaver the darkness, trying to part the way until the dawn. I can’t sleep, mustn’t sleep. If I sleep she’ll call me. And I’m afraid to see.
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