Jack and Diane

Were you just playing a John Mellencamp song...?

My inquiry was earnest, though filled with the confused stupor that follows an awakening from a deep, mid-afternoon nap. 

Equally confused, he replied "... I don't know anything by John Mellencamp..."

In a sedated, yet certain response I added ""Jack and Diane"... I thought you were playing that song..."

He stood quietly for a moment, curious, as I held a focused gaze, hands in my lap, staring at my fingers, gracefully interwoven.

 

It's the look he dubs the "1000 mile stare".

And I slowly came to. 

Came to realize my father wasn't playing a John Mellencamp song, and Lloyd wasn't either.  

I shouldn't have been surprised-  neither of the two men had ever played John Mellencamp before, so why would they now?

But in some lost space where fatigue and sleep meet, I had heard my father playing guitar and heard his voice- clear as day- singing the lyrics to that song, and upon awakening and realizing the impossibility of that, I assumed it had been Lloyd. 

But it was Sunday- the day where improbabilities and possibilities co-exist, I suppose.  

Sayler and I had unexpectedly fallen asleep side by side on our couch despite the bright sunlight that kissed our faces and begged us to come out and play. 

The nap was a welcome respite for us both. And as we napped, Lloyd retreated to his man cave-the garage- where he plays and records music at every chance available. 

And perhaps, despite our well-insulated walls dividing us, the echoes of his guitar permeated the walls enough for me to hear an amalgamation that sounded like Jack and Diane.  And perhaps, through those same walls, my father's presence filtered through the years that have kept us divided. 

Why that song? Why that lazy day? I'll refrain from asking the questions that have no answers, and instead welcome the blissful, if not confusing, melodies of songs that play, if only in my dreams- sung by those that I have loved.  To hear a recent playing of Jack and Diane