Jack of Harts

Julie and me grew up together. We lived in a small town on the edge of civilization where big city folk came to vacation. But most never stayed through winter, which could start as earlier as September and end as late as May. So we knew each other. Kinda. She was okay, for a girl, when I was real young. She got a lot more interesting once I discovered that girls weren’t icky, but we didn’t hang out much. I enjoyed the parties, and she didn’t stay out late. Then one day in our first year of high school, I was plucking at my guitar, trying to nail down a new song, and I just couldn’t get it right. She walked up, grabbed the guitar out of my hands, and played the song the way it was meant to be played. With feeling. Let me be clear here. It was a new song. Absolutely new. Never played before by anyone. And she could tell what I was trying to play good enough to do it the way I meant it to be. That’s the kind of talent she is. The kind that is born once into a generation and cannot be silenced by anyone, no matter how hard they try. I didn’t know why she trusted me enough to let me see it, but I never had a chance after that. I was in love.