Damn you, Kelly Clarkson.
I’ve never watched a minute of American Idol, so my introduction to Miss Clarkson was the infectious “Since U Been Gone,” which played so frequently over the past year I think it is reaching “Hey Ya!” proportions.
I’m having a very girlie week with my iPod. Since I’ve been typing this, Journey started asking me “Who’s Crying Now.” The answer to that question, this morning, is me. Sitting across from a friend at Union Station, waiting on his train to arrive, fitting in months of life into sixty minutes, trying to catch up without looking like a basketcase. A moment of compassion, the smallest acknowledgement of emotional recognition, of validation, the simplest words said between old friends, and the next thing I knew I was wiping tears from my eyes.
Union Station is absolutely beautiful, a preserved art deco moment from the past. When I sat down across from Josh I joked, “I should be sitting here wearing little black hat with a veil, smoking a cigarette through blood red lips, tears down my face, whispering, ‘When will you return?'”
And then within a few minutes, I was the modern version of that woman, leaning her head against the tablecloth, apologizing for the emotion. The excuses start. It’s early. I’m tired. Things are hectic. Things are crazy.
But the truth is sometimes someone knows you long enough that you don’t have to say much. You can see in their eyes as they study the differences between now and the last time they saw you. So much registers in seconds, and in that time you watch them go from the happiness of seeing you to a fleeting moment of worry, to the warmth of someone who’s been through things with you before, and knows this is just another part of life.
Um, and… something about Kelly Clarkson. Anyway, I’m emotional these days. It makes me cling to cheesy pop songs like they’re made of life preservers.