#remembering...

In the span of a breath, the deflating pang of regret vanished. Lydia gazed at Stiles and saw...everything. Understanding, care, patience, forgiveness, willingness... It was all there, same as it always was, all of it directed at her. She saw the boy she had been gravitating towards since he asked her to the Winter Formal, and she wanted nothing more than to dance with him again.  

Belgian by birth, but itinerant in spirit, guitarist Rene Thomas was uncommonly adept at adopting aggregate role models from a distance. The recordings of Django Reinhardt steered his earliest years as a student. Charlie Christian, Billy Bauer, and Jimmy Raney took over after exposure to the bebop and cool tributaries of jazz. Thomas assimilated aspects from each influence, devising an argot on his instrument that emphasized nimble single note structures and richly applied imagination to harmony. That winsome combination garnered immediate notice and led to a life traveling throughout Europe, stateside, and Canada, gigging with luminaries and journeymen alike in a myriad of jazz-oriented settings. Remembering… gathers nearly two-and-a-half hours of music of varying provenance recorded between 1955 and 1962. 

He shrugged. “I require very little sleep to function.”

She remembers thinking that his dismissive answer was going to be the lead-in to a joke. But instead, he looked her in the eyes and added, “Anyway, I’d rather be with you.”

She wanted to say, So would I, but the words got smothered by the fabric of a yellow, grey, and teal hoodie when Stiles slid both arms around her and hugged her tightly.

Lydia swears that hug had healing powers. It was everything she needed – full of warmth and reassurance, uniquely capable of silencing the doubts that had been rattling her nerves all evening. It was a hug so encompassing that she could think of nothing but how good it felt. A hug so perfect, she never wanted it to end.

She remembers the serenity of that moment, the way her love for Stiles swirled and then settled inside like the flurries in a snow globe. She let herself enjoy every precious second of it. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, and when she heard his contented hum, she thought maybe she was healing him too.

Besides those hours sharing the passenger’s seat, there were other moments. Like the two of them walking the streets of Mexico, his hand frequently brushing against hers or hovering at her back. Like when he stepped between her and a boy who almost knocked into her because he wasn’t looking where he was going. Like when he bought her the beaded bracelet with the tiny star charm she had been eyeing, handing the cash to the street vendor before she could protest and shoving the eight pesos change he received into his pocket with a crooked grin. She remembered those moments too, each of them like little rainbows in the midst of so much gloom.