Emily and I met in college. We both attended the University of Houston – Clear Lake. We shared a few classes together before we actually met. For an entire semester, she existed in my mind as the beautiful girl who always did better than me in the classes we shared, stealing all the professor’s praise, which I deserved. As a result, I had a huge crush on her, and I wanted to crush her. The second of those things went away soon after I got to know her the next semester.
A requirement of our degree program was being a part of the school’s newspaper staff. Naturally, Emily was chosen as editor over me, continuing the now common trend of her beating me in all things academic. I was OK with it, though, because now she would have to speak to me, so in this instance, losing was a win.
As the semester continued, we got to know one another, and I found myself showing up earlier and staying later for class.
As a lowly reporter, I had to cover a variety of really riveting stories centered around the most important questions on campus like “Where do all of our parking fines go at UHCL?” or “When will the cafeteria get something other than Quiznos?” Really hard-hitting, Pulitzer-type stuff. While the content might not have always been great, it did provide one crucial service. It provided me more opportunities to spend time with Emily.
At some point during the semester, I was assigned a story about an upcoming art exhibit at a bookstore in Houston. The artist was named Daniel Johnston. Daniel is a singer-songwriter, musician and visual artist known for his “pure and childlike soul.” That’s the nice way he is described. The reality is that he is incredibly complex guy, who has been in and out of psychiatric institutions throughout his life, and has been diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. Even through this, and perhaps because of it, Daniel has produced amazing music and art.
In addition to all of his artistic contributions, he also produced this opportunity for me to hang out with Emily. I invited her to come with me to the exhibit, under the guise of needing her “expert editorial opinion” on how to cover this unique individual. It was, of course, complete bullshit conjured to get her to go. She knew that, and she came anyway.
Over the years, I have grown to really appreciate Daniel and his work. It is great on it’s own merit, but also holds a special place because the role it played in bringing Emily and me together. One of my favorite songs by Daniel is “Some Things Last A Long Time.” The subject of the song is Laurie, a girl Daniel fell in love with in school during their shared art class. It is a love that he never experienced again and one that he never moved on from.
After Emily died, two years ago today, I purchased a piece of Daniel’s art. The picture features a self-portrait of Daniel thinking about and drawing two of his most enduring characters, and the artist contemplating how some things never change. Daniel was never the same after falling for Laurie. Some people have drawn the conclusion that not having Laurie in his life any more is what led to his mental breakdown and the subsequent difficulty that he has to live with daily.
Those people are wrong.
Some of the most inspired music and compelling art he created is a direct result of his love for her. It is entirely conceivable that every good thing that he has done is only because of her.
That is the enduring truth of real love. It never goes away. Life changes. People come in and out of our worlds and nothing stays gold forever. Save for one. Love. Real love never goes away. Some days it is haunting and difficult, but it is also the endless fountain from which every good thing flows. The rest of my days will be difficult on some level because of the absence of Emily. But they will also be worth living because of the enduring love we shared.
Some things last a long time.
Some things last a long time.
emily and bret 