“Do you miss him?”
“Nope. He murdered any positive feelings I had for him,” I say. “To be honest, I have a sneaking suspicion I was in the relationship because I thought I needed to be in a relationship. But don’t tell anyone. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
He grunts.
“I always liked the idea of being somebody’s world.”
“Is that healthy?”
“Probably not. Sounds sort of codependent when you think about it.” I sigh. “Don’t tell anyone about that either.”
“Worry not. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“What’s your longest relationship?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. Say about a year. My job doesn’t make room for being present for the day-to-day stuff. What I consider a relationship and what you do is probably pretty different. We basically just kept in touch and got together when we were in the same town.”
“Do you even want to be in a relationship? Is that something you’re interested in?”
“Having a person sounds nice in theory.” He frowns. “But figuring out my life has to come first. What about you?”
“I am in no rush to have my head and my heart messed with again. And starting over does seem like something you should do solo.”
He nods. “I think you’re right about that. You’re a very sensible person, Junebug.”
“Sometimes. You’re a good listener.”
“It’s where inspiration for some of my songs came from,” he says. “Hearing people talk about their lives and the things they’d experienced.”
“You’re a storyteller, which is a beautiful thing.”
“It is. Thank you.” He smiles. “I think I’m done for now though. Sharing my songs was such a high. When inspiration strikes and you write something you know people are going tohear and be moved by. Like it might make them feel seen and to be a part of something.”
“That’s what we all want.”
“Yeah. I think so. I just wanted to make great music,” he says. “But between you and me, I think part of the reason I didn’t want to go into the writing phase this time around was the loneliness.”
“Have you tried writing with people around?”
“I used to when I was younger. And I take notes when I’m on the road.” He pauses. “Loneliness feels like a part of the problem. But the hustle in general was weighing me down.”
I drink some more beer. There’s peace to be found in sitting here with him in the twilight. It’s like the gentle current of the water washes away my bad mood and disappointments.
“What about you?” I ask. “What did you bring with you?”
Nash’s vehicle is a blue forty-odd-year-old Jeep Wagoneer. Way more storage room. “My 1938 Martin D-45.”
“Is that a guitar?”
“A very beautiful acoustic guitar of which there were only ninety-one made.”
“You only brought a guitar?”
He nods. “That and my toothbrush.”
“Well, thank goodness.”
“Two houses full of stuff didn’t make me happy.”
