and Words
In my heart there always crept
a jealousy that never′slept
It lived on calls that never came
and whispers of another’s name
But your love is a light that shines so honestly
And now because of your true colors I can see.
No green eyes, no blue nights
No jealous heart, no little white lies
You showed me what love looks like
I had the colors all wrong but now they′re right
No green eyes, no blue nights.
Lyric excerpts from Musixmatch.
I rarely listen to country music; only a handful of artists adorn my collection. A dear friend introduced me to Suzy Bogguss, and I subsequently picked up ‘Something Up My Sleeve’. I genuinely enjoyed the album, and even today, when reading the song titles, I can hear most of the tunes in my head. When we found that Bogguss had an upcoming concert in the Seattle area, we decided that we’d go together.
While I enjoy her music, I wouldn’t rank Bogguss among the top 50% of my favorite musicians; my musical tastes are far too diverse. However, I will honestly list this particular concert among my favorites. First, her live performance of each song didn’t deviate far from the studio version. I understand this may be my baggage, but I’d like to hear a performance that closely resembles what I’ve committed to memory. Second, Bogguss genuinely seems to enjoy herself as she performs; she frequently smiles as she sings or introduces a song. Lastly, the venue and performance felt intimate. At times, with her eye contact, it felt as if she was singing just to us.
Though the most enduring memory of that concert is the opportunity to spend time with my friend. Every time I hear this song, ‘No Green Eyes’, I reflect on my friendship with her.
I graduated from the University of Miami in 1991; I arrived weeks later in Washington to start a career at Microsoft. This sent my life on an entirely different trajectory. While Miami thrived in its nightlife and progressiveness, I remained deeply connected to my reserved Cantonese community in Fort Lauderdale. I had no gay friends that I knew about. By the time I graduated, I had precisely one friend from that Cantonese community who had divorced.
I moved to Washington knowing effectively no one; a couple of interns I knew from Miami had arrived weeks before me, but that’s about it. However, they worked on other groups, and I rarely crossed paths with them during the day. Like most new Microsoft employees, I spent disproportionately long days at work. Those people in that central hallway, devoid of natural light, in our building 13, became my new family.
Two interns occupied the office immediately across the hall; both had yet to finish their degrees. He had a sharp sense of humor and fondness for live music, especially Phish. She hailed from Alabama and introduced me to some country music. She was married, through her husband was deployed. I stayed in that group for eighteen years and continued to work with many of the same faces.
Years later, my friend got divorced. Though it sounds like I’m passing judgment, I am… but not on her, but on myself. My sheltered, reserved Cantonese community talked about divorce in hushed tones; we passively judged others. However, we also prioritized continuity over happiness. I watched couples stay in loveless marriages, for ‘the sake of the kids’. Those kids transitively learned that unyielding dedication to the same principle, like Kamikaze pilots. It was with those biased eyes that I saw her, and I immediately felt shame.
In our friendship, I empathized and understood. Life is messy; there are no straight paths. I watched her navigate it. She chose happiness over continuity. She demonstrated courage, and I admired her. Finally, someone broke that spell about that simple untruth, that divorce requires blame.
During one conversation, I mused that I contemplated becoming a ‘Big Brother’. Having lost my father at nine years old, I hoped to be that role model that I lacked as I grew up. Honestly, this thought crossed my mind sporadically. We tell ourselves stories that we may believe, like “this year, I’ll go to the gym.” For years, I insisted I would learn to play the guitar someday. That Washburn acoustic electric guitar sat in a corner of the room for decades as it quietly mocked me.
In our youth, we all aspired to do more, to be indeed more. And quite swiftly, she held me accountable. I became the ‘Big Brother’ to Lucas, a young man, not yet in his teens. I’ll never completely understand what she saw in me as I navigated my tumultuous 20s. I spent an occasional weekend day with Lucas. For years, I’d see him every few weeks. Often doing little else than playing cards, skating, or attending a Star Trek convention.
As he grew older, these meetings became less frequent. Tragically, those stopped altogether when he died by suicide.
Early in my career at Microsoft, I drove myself hard. We represented the Top Gun of software developers, and the idea of becoming even better intoxicated me. Not only did it make me miserable, but I drove my teammates unreasonably hard. I remember screaming at people telling them that their code was shit. Yes, I was an asshole; I won’t deny it. This included my friend; I can’t begin to justify my behavior. They tolerated my antics, perhaps because others screamed worse accusations more loudly. Microsoft was certainly an ‘Old Boys Club’ and part of it tainted me.
Friendships oscillate, but with luck and perseverance, they’re persistent. I don’t remember apologizing to her (or other friends) for being such a colossal jerk, yet they forgave me. Ironically, in a similar act of kindness to myself, I can finally release the baggage on those transgressions. After all, if they found it in themselves to forgive me, I can learn to forgive myself.
Maybe the greatest gift in friendship lies in seeing yourself through their eyes. She saw me as a role model to a troubled teen or as a competent programmer who had nothing to prove. We see our training wheels when they see you riding that bike.
We haven’t worked together for decades. She left the rat race that was Microsoft, and I similarly exited years later. I’ll occasionally see her on a post with a picture; I’ll hear her name in a conversation about the old days. Better still, when I hear that familiar music by Suzy Bogguss, I’ll reflect on those moments of deep seeded friendship that will persist.