Remember when we first met standing at the bar, admiring the jukebox's warm glow? How I somehow got around to telling you about that $90,000 turntable? It almost seems silly now. The small talk of first meetings often does, I suppose, seem silly. But not ours. Nothing "silly" about it. And nothing small. I don't know what made me think I should mention it this silly turntable but, a day later, you'd call and leave a message saying you'd like to hear more. "Fascinating," was the word you used.
Fascinating. Fascinating. Fascinating. I replayed the message a million times, as though it was a favorite song, just to hear the word come from your lips. No "just" about it. Already, then, I was falling in love with you.
Yes, well, I finally got a chance to listen to the silly thing. And let me tell you: it was beautiful.
Remember Sunday morning, listening to the Buena Vista Social Club's Ibrahim Ferrer chanting, "Dos gardenias para ti..."? We danced around the kitchen, dreaming of all the bright colors in Cuba. Te quiero, te adoro, mi vida. I told you I was sorry I'd never had the chance to see him perform live.
Yes, well, on this day black vinyl spun by the silly $90,000 turntable I came as close as I'll ever get. Ten years were stripped from his golden voice, ten years of warm winds blown from the grooves. I wish you were there. I wish you were there. We would have danced as though we were the only ones in the room. You and I, and Ibrahim.
At the end of the song, I wanted to applaud. You were right, love. It was, it is: fascinating.