Memory Days

I think I listened to the album once and promptly dismissed "What Would You Say" as a song I liked on the radio, because the rest of the album did nothing for me, and then I forgot about DMB for a few tumultuous years.

On a late summer day in 1997, I remembered.

This guy asked me to lunch. David and I knew each other, more specifically we knew of each other. He was nice, plus we had a close friend in common and we'd met enough times that conversation between us even without our mutual friend seemed natural. We were in the same spot that day, having very recently broken off our relationships and left our jobs. He asked and I accepted because we shared a desire not to be alone.

We met at this Indian place on Queen Anne, and we ate. We talked for hours. It wasn't so much talking to each other as talking in the presence of one another; there are times when that is enough. We exchanged phone numbers and made plans to see each other again later in the week. I walked home through the neighborhood, not reflecting and not searching for nuances in the conversation. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, getting back to my quiet house.

Seattle in the late summer is a beautiful place with soft air, soft light and bright color. The blues and the greens shimmered that day; the grays, whites and reds brooded but they washed together as a song floated out the open door of a little house about a block before the bridge.

I stood across the street and listened to the Dave Matthews Band sing "Crash" on the radio. I felt the breeze blow past me, smelled the grass and the trees. The song, the whole of it, was perfect for the moment; neither music nor words stuck out from the distant, almost tinny sound of the radio from inside the home of a people I'd never see. I listened until the song had ended, then I walked, one foot in front of another until I reached home.

before - after