Creature of Habit

Two thoughts converged within my grey cells and here I am again … creature of habit that I am.
So I sit at this keyboard … almost arrogantly convincing myself of “difference”, a new leaf, an uncovered stepping stone, a break in patterns of old. And yet the words that I typed to a prophet I know who spins rhymes that melt even the coldest of hearts, were reminiscent of words typed before … and I wondered …
Am I simply changing the packaging … “new and improved” … adding “ers” to the same old product – me- as a form of masturbatory reinvention. And God forbid … could I handle it if the answer was “yes”?
Back to those grey cells … or a parcel of a story that speaks for itself. In my very early twenties, after a chance encounter in a Bracebridge bar … a result of my brother staying after the last set to talk to a bunch of Toronto-based musicians … I met Mike. Details flood my senses, even twenty years later … exquisitely wrinkled off-white linen jacket … black t-shirt and tight Levis … whiff of Paco Rabane … five o’clock shadow … lean, taut – a musician’s body … brooding black eyes, a mop of black hair … my “Italian Stallion” …
A summer of passion … music … intensity … connection …
But Mike’s insecurities could not fathom letting summer turn to fall with the “wild one” (yes, I was young, carefree, unafraid, open, wild and living in the moment at least once in my life) …
But I digress … allowing myself a selfish stroll down “what once was” … that very first night as I stood shyly (or coyly) behind my brother as he chatted with the drummer … I turned to that intense bass player/pianist and said, “you’re quite good … I’ve had years of classical piano lessons and I wish I could play with such passion and skill.”
I recall his eyes pouring into mine as he tried to decide if I was simply mouthing a line … or if I meant what I said …
Fast forward twenty four years later … Dave & I were at a small Italian restaurant on Lakeshore having a celebratory meal with another couple. Wine glasses clinked as silver ting-ed on china as people around us in the semi-lit room … ate, drank and were merry. As our first-courses were approaching their last bites, a black-suited piano man sat down at the grand piano in the corner of the room …
Soon the tickling of the ivories was filling the room … Billy Joel … Frank Sinatra … old standards … it wasn’t long before a couple or two were on the dance floor and someone got bold enough to make a special request to the accomplished pianist.
As he started playing “Writing” (Elton John) … I found myself walking past him … I turned … listened and when the song ended … walked up and said …
“you’re quite good … I’ve had years of classical piano lessons and I wish I could play with such passion and skill.”
He smiled and told me about his training and his love of music, piano and yes, he grinned and paused, even the accordion. He paused again and said as his eyes poured into mine – “you remind me of someone I once knew … your eyes are just like hers – I drowned in those eyes once. Oh my god, forgive me if I’m wrong … is your name Gail?”
The rest would be extremely self-serving to repeat … but the point of all this … is that when the words left my lips, I had no recollection of having ever spoken those words, in that order … or best yet, to the same man!
So what does it all mean? Feeling like … or knowing that … something has been done before … that reactions, emotions, thoughts are the same? A sign of honesty? Stagnation? Lack of imagination? Consistency?
Or are those the moments … the thoughts … emotions … that are the closest to the core, the least changed by time or compromises …
Subtle reminders that within the layers of the onion peels sits a constant core unchanged, unvanquished … my very own creature of habit