A glass of wine. A thinning of the liquid-tight emotional shell. Mix it all together and you get:  this.

When I was fifteen years old, I heard “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by Yes. This song captured me, because of nothing except Trevor Rabin.

Trevor was the guitarist who joined Yes after Steve Howe left. I think. (I’m not in the mood to stretch back that far in my music history.) He was young, cocky, and incredibly talented. And handsome.

Fifth row center tickets to the 1987 “Big Generator” show at The Arena solidified my crush on Trevor. In 1989, Trevor released “Can’t Look Away,” a solo effort that no human being on the planet except me had purchased, and no one even knew about it except anyone who came into contact with me.

This man can play guitar like a god. A guitar in his hands becomes a part of him, and when he plays he closes his eyes and makes love to it. His fingers move like lightning on the strings. Watching him play is nearly better than sex. Great sex, that is.

On nearly every single trip up and down Interstate 44, to and from Springfield during college, I listened to “Can’t Look Away” in its entirety. It became more of a ritual than anything else. With Trevor on, I could let the four hour trip fade away, and just float along the highway with his music. Searing guitars and a beautiful voice.

In 1993, just months before my wedding, I called Carol. I was in tears, with the “Can’t Look Away” tape liner notes in my hand. “I can’t marry Dan,” I wailed, “He’s not … Trevor.” This made little sense to Carol, and probably makes less sense to anyone reading this but me.

But this infinitely understated epiphany should have guided the rest of my life. Instead, I allowed myself to be guided by others, and my fear of disappointing … everyone … and married Dan. And gave up my dream of being loved by a guitar player with dark hair and soulful brown eyes.

It looks so easy

To be walking close behind

Did you find it easy

To be needed all the time?

I’m looking at you now

As if you knew the way

But I cannot reach you, you’re far away

Then, years later, I see this guy. You know, on the internet. I pass him up, looking around. Go back. Nah. Then go back. He shows up in every search. And I like what I see.

I e-mail him, and hear nothing. Then, one day, a note.

A month of this, and we meet. And I come face to face with my sweet guitar player with dark hair and soulful brown eyes.

Promises! Don’t give me promises

Don’t give me promises when all you do is lie

No promises when all I do is cry

I was nervous when he invited me to come over one night after his son had gone to bed. I really, really liked him, and knew somehow that ultimately the demise of the relationship would come from me. Habit, I suppose. It’s one of those things that, when you want something so badly, you just know it will end in a state of ruin.

That evening, while he put his son back to bed for the twentieth time, I perused his CDs. And found a ton of Yes CDs. And … “Can’t Look Away.”

Trevor Rabin.

I nearly wept. I accosted him when he returned to the living room. Truly, I thought I was the only human being who revered Trevor. “He’s a great guitar player,” he says matter-of-factly. I can’t stop smiling.

I have climbed the valley side

And scaled the mountain

Yet my freedom’s still one thousand miles away

And I’m frozen in mid-stride

By this yearning deep inside

Can’t look away

I can’t look away

Head bent over my Strat one evening, he explains to me how to make a crowd lean into you and how to make them lean away from you, all with the guitar. And I never saw it. I never saw the resemblance, I never had the understanding of why a seemingly innocuous (or obnoxious) instrument made the world change for me, and why certain persons hold the power to make it sing for me.

I was waiting for the moment

Then I heard the angel’s scream

Oh, God, I miss him. It’s true. Yesterday was only half the story. He had this way of asking WTF? that was merely a highly-raised eyebrow on a questioning face. His sense of life was high theater mixed thoroughly with sharp-tongued cynicism. His temper was hot, but usually well-leashed - too well-leashed. Picturing his half-smile still tears at the barely-scabbed wounds. God, it hurts and hurts and hurts. I miss him so much.

Cloaked in arms of war

I’ll come to look for you

For, until they see,

There is no other way

Through the flames that set me free

And the clouds that cover me

I won’t look away

I won’t look away

Painfully honest,

michelle