Your Misfortune  – Mike Doughty

The first time I heard it, we were sitting together in the back seat of his car as our friend Andrei drove us home.  “This is the first time I’ve ever sat in my own back seat,” he said as Andrei’s girlfriend Emma sat passenger, her brother Richard was to my left.  He, of course, was on my right, with one arm around me and another interlaced with the fingers of my right hand.

Emma had asked for his phone and was playing DJ via the music he had stored on it, selecting each song for the ride home, rather than letting it shuffle on its own.  She controlled destiny, not allowing the soundtrack of our evening to be determined by the randomness the device would provide on its own.

We couldn’t have been on the road much more than five minutes when the song began.  It sounded familiar; with an opening drive similar to a tune I once had on a CD mix an old high school friend mass produced for a dozen or so friends.  But it wasn’t the same song I had rocked out to on a soccer bus over a decade ago.  As the song drove on, we drove on.

He held my hand up close to his face, my arm bent at the elbow, kept vertical as my fingers brushed his cheek, feeling the movement of his mouth as he sang along.  Emma sang from the front seat as well, and managed to balance the volume perfectly – allowing me to know they were singing, yet still being able to hear the recorded artist clear as crystal.

The words were simple and they touched the core of me.  I listened deeply, taking in each line of each verse, and resting in the chorus.  The words flowed quickly from my ears to be processed, first in my clouded mind of confusion and then in my healing, vulnerable being.  As I watched his lips move over the words, I felt what was left of my previously broken heart swell for him.  I felt as if he was speaking these words directly to my soul, entangled in our situation. As this contemplation continued, I lost control of my breath and tears formed in my eyes.

When your faith in life is gone
Come and speak to me
When you’re down and all messed up
Seek my sympathy 

When everybody says, “no, no, no
Well it’s
Your misfortune and none of my own.”
Wrong, wrong, wrong
Well it’s your misfortune that sweetens my song 

I can be the friend you want
I can be your confidante
I can be the right reminder at the right time
Throwing out the lifeline 

Stand in the light. Stand in the light. Stand in the light
Stand in the light. Stand in the light. Stand in the light

A week later, as we climbed into his car, he started playing a classic song from my adolescence – one that happened to be on that same high school mix from years ago.  “Do you have a good music memory?” I asked.  He looked over at me, inquisitively.  “If I tell you a memory, can you remember what song was playing?”
I shared my recollection of the scene from the week prior, and of course, he did remember the song.

“Can we listen to that next, please?” I asked, and before the question left my lips completely, he was queuing it to begin shortly.

He held my left hand from the driver’s seat.  I gazed out the window as music filled the car, yet again.  We drove around my neighborhood, letting the music play and preparing for goodnight.

It was uncontrollable, though I tried to fight the emotions I felt during those four minutes.  Uncontrollable and unexplainable, how I felt so preciously cared for, so fulfilled in this budding relationship between us and yet so completely saddened.  So fearful of what was happening and the possibility of feeling such strong pain again.

I pulled my knees into my chest as we continued on our journey, staring at the passing houses, trying to avoid the usual welcomed gaze from the seat next to me.  I held on to each deep breath I drew in, attempting to mask the fear and the uncertainty with a falseness of control.  After the song ended, as he pulled into my driveway I turned to say goodnight to the sweet boy to my left.

After looking deep into my eyes, scanning my face for a sign of what I was feeling, he wiped each droplet away with the back of his hand as I struggled a smile from my lips, and told him it was nothing.

When your face is caked with mud
Come and speak to me
When the chill creeps in your blood
Seek my sympathy 

When everybody says, “no, no, no
Well it’s
Your misfortune and none of my own.”
Wrong, wrong, wrong
Well it’s your misfortune that sweetens my song 

I can be the air you drink
Every single thought you think
I can be the right notion in the meantime
Warm you like the sunshine 

Stand in the light. Stand in the light. Stand in the light

He called, “bullshit.”
I exhaled.
“I don’t know what is wrong.”
We sat in silence, him holding my face in his hands with a softness that managed to be both strong and gentle.
“Are you sure you don’t know?”
I refused to answer, fighting back new tears which were aiming for the surface.
“Maybe…” I began, but stopped myself.
He turned off the car, unbuckled his seat belt and pulled me close to him, holding me tightly as I let out a sigh.
“If you figure it out, will you tell me?  Will you call me?”
I could see his expression changing to worried.
“Maybe…you could come inside for just, like, five minutes?”
Forehead kisses.
“Of course.”

I simply wanted a hug; to feel his arms around me and my heart beating opposite of his.  I wanted to be held, and I wanted to be told it would all be okay.
He followed me up the stairs, and once I put my bag down on the floor, standing in my kitchen he wrapped his arms around my body, in an instant.
If I was holding on to any bit of control previous, it was now long gone as the droplets of tears turned to a stream and I caught myself apologizing, becoming even more vulnerable as I admitted how much of an idiot I felt in this moment, crying in the dark of my apartment to a boy who barely knows me.

“I’m just scared.” I admitted, as I walked away from him, looking out the window as I tried to calm myself down and remove the tear stains from my face.
He came to my rescue, wrapping me up again in his protection and care.
Sat down.
Took both hands.
Got serious.
“You have nothing to worry about. I promise you.”
More tears.
More breathlessness.
More ridiculousness.
More words.
More apologies.

“Do you want to come and stay with me tonight? I will bring you back here in the morning.”
“I don’t want to make you do that.”
“I wouldn’t mind it.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“ You are not an idiot.”

He brought me back with him.
He rescued me from myself, from my fears.
He wrapped me up in his arms and allowed me to admit things I’ve been hiding from.
He kissed me.
He held me.
He put me to bed.
He woke up the next morning to do it again.