Broken Promises Under The Influence Of Blue Agave Chapter 4

I’m assuming most people have favorite songs that bring back memories. Those songs that you can remember where you were and who you were with when that song became embedded in your brain. So, before I can switch off the engine in my truck, “the” song came on a SiriusXM station. Of course, the emotional person that I am I sit back and listen to the song that triggers a time in my past, a happy time, a time I remember as good. This is the song Crosby and I found as our song. It reached both of us, and when we heard it on the radio or played on a cassette tape, we both sang out loud. Our eyes full of fun, our eyes full of love for one another. We knew every word and sang it to each other. A bonding moment that is lasting a life time for me.


My legs are pulled under me, and I am holding my glass of Fence Post Winery Chardonnay when it happened. The song came on while listening to SiriusXM Radio. I close my eyes and go back many years to when Marshall and I made this song ours. It was funny how we came to making this song ‘our song.’

“Wake up Maggie, I think I’ve got something to say to you

It’s late September, and I really should be back at school

I know I keep you amused

But I feel I’m being used

Oh, Maggie, I couldn’t have tried any more

You led me away from home

Just to save you from being alone

You stole my heart, and that’s what really hurts.”

Maggie May was written and sung by Rod Stewart. I can still see the title of the record, “Every Picture Tells A Story.” That song still gets to me when I hear it. I either laugh while I’m singing with Rod or tears fill my eyes while thinking about my best friend and how I abandoned him after our one-night doing shots of Blue Agave Tequila and then making love. Our friendship bond broke into so many pieces I did not believe they could be put back together again. I ran away from him without even a good bye.

Marshall called me a million times, but I couldn’t answer the phone. I changed my number, changed colleges and moved a thousand miles away. So now I sit here and I listen to Maggie May, tears fall from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I wipe at my face to brush the emptiness away. I want to turn off the song, but I can’t. I’m frozen in a time warp. I have never forgiven myself for what I chose to do to him. Now when I hear our song, especially the first verse, I wonder, I really wonder how he is doing.

A year ago, I looked for him on Facebook, but I could not find him. I don’t even know if he is still alive.


Our song ends, and I get out of my truck and walk through the garage into my house. I stand there for a few seconds in the dark. I feel as empty as the blackness surrounding me in my own home. I switch on the light in the kitchen. Everything as it should be, just the way I left it. It crosses my mind that I’m hungry and I don’t feel like cooking, besides I stink. I’m sweaty, dirty and tired. I have no motivation right now. A shower will decide what I will do with the rest of my evening.


The end of Maggie May plays out, and I take a sip of my wine. All I’m thinking about now is the night Marshall and I got together, and I made tacos. We both ate and drank beers–I remember that well. We sat at the table and talked about our friends, jobs, and dreams. I can close my eyes and see his face. He was always smiling. That smile was pure and one of the big reasons I became attracted to him. I don’t remember how we decided we could be best friends without getting involved sexually. I’ve thought a lot about it and self-analyzed our relationship to death and finally came to the conclusion we both were looking for a safe place where life didn’t have to get complicated. Trust was king between us, and we made it work for a long time.

I can honestly say, even though we never actually talked about our celibate friendship, I’m pretty sure in the dark recesses of our minds we wanted each other. So, I take another sip of my wine, and I think about that night. I am guilty of suggesting that we get the tequila out and have a shot. A full stomach, beers and a best friend made my suggestion sound like a good idea.

We continued our conversation over several shots, I don’t remember how many. The warmth of the evening gave way to the Blue Agave whispering in my ear. I remember battling in my mind and secretly saying no several times as we visited with each other. Then in one defenseless instant, I could not say no. I wanted him, and I took him.


I showered and sat down at the kitchen table and with my head resting in my hand. I’m wondering what I should eat for dinner. Then without another thought, I got up and reached into the cupboard and pulled out the Blue Agave Tequila and two shot glasses. I poured the tequila in each one and slid one across the table to the empty chair. Still thinking about our song, I imagined what it would be like today all these years later if Crosby were sitting there. I held up my shot, and in a single man’s toast I tossed the liquid back and swallowed it slowly. It burned, and I felt it settle in my stomach. I poured another shot, then another.


Kissing Marshall for the first time while sitting on his lap opened up feelings I had no idea were buried inside me. Marshall responded in kind. We kissed each other, and he held me close to him. I remember brushing my fingers through his hair and smiling at him while staring into his eyes. We kissed several more times, I mean deep, meaningful kisses. There was no stopping us.

We got undressed and fell into his bed. I never have felt so out of control, yet in control. It was an experience I had not felt before or honestly, I have not felt to this day. It was natural for both of us. We made love without saying one word. There was nothing we could say anyway. It was the immunity the Blue Agave gave us from our promises to each other. There was no consequences or thoughts of the morning or what next. Just that moment.

I woke up first in the morning. I lay still because I did not want to move and wake up Marshall. With a sheet covering my nakedness and Marshall’s quiet breathing, I had to make a decision.

Laying there with a slight headache I thought about last night and slowly but surely reality set in. I contemplated all the words we could say to each other when he woke up. I wondered if we could go back to just being friends. The longer I laid there, the more I understood that a promise had been broken and there was no going back. I quietly got up and got dressed and left Marshall sleeping.


Broken Promises Under The Influence Of Blue Agave Chapter 3

While I’m raising my girls, Rebecka and Gracie to be honest and truthful in all things. I cannot help but point the finger at myself. I have not been fair to myself or with my daughters. This bothers me off and on when I stop long enough to think about it.

I struggle with my life’s choices when waking up at 1:30 in the morning. I have two wonderful girls that are quickly turning into young women. I am proud to be their mother. Yet I have this underlying issue that I need to address with them.

Both Rebecka and Gracie deserve a truthful answer to why my husband abandoned us a short two years ago. I know it has affected both girls and especially Rebecka. She is growing up in a world that I sometimes do not understand. She slips between being a happy teenager to a lost soul. She has periods of self-doubt that she would never admit to me. She has deep seated anger issues that I know stem from the abandonment of her father.

I have tried to put all the blame on myself. Like it was my fault and telling Rebecka and Gracie it was personal between their dad and me. I made sure they heard me say it enough that it his abandonment was not their fault. I hoped that would suffice and silence their questions. It hasn’t. Although I cuddle with them and run my fingers through their hair and give them mommy kisses and repeat over and over again, their daddy does love them very much. I have no actual answers as to why he never writes, calls or even sends them something. He totally has dropped out of our lives.

I’m going to gather my courage, sit them down and tell them the whole story soon. I feel guilty, and I need to explain the entire truth to the girls.


I’m tired tonight, the construction business is booming, and right now I’m working seven days a week. I pull into my driveway of my home after another long day on the construction site. My truck sits idling while I reach up and hit the remote button to the garage door. I watch as the door opens slowly exposing the insides of my home. At that very second, I have this epiphany that saddens me because it is an accurate reflection of my life. I have it all closed up, and I hide behind my outward persona ignoring the deepest of my feelings. As the garage door stops at the top and I stare into the semi-darkness at all my shit, I start to cry.


Gracie is in her room studying for next Monday’s quiz. She is not the procrastinator that I am. I mean, come on it’s Friday afternoon. I would be trying to find a way out of the house and escape from my parents and two sisters. My sisters are all older, so I learned how to play the game from them. Deep down I’m pretty sure my parents knew exactly what we three girls were up to. But they never let on. They let things play out.

So, I am sitting here in the living room drinking a glass of excellent Fence Post Winery Chardonnay and glad I didn’t have to work today. Playing some of my favorite music and sipping the wine I am thinking about what I am going to make for dinner. Being an adult sometimes sucks.


“Come on Marshall; it’s just a frigging song. I say out loud, “Why am I sobbing?” I don’t know about anybody else but when my inner feelings rise to the surface, and I try my damnedest to shove them back into the recesses of my internal garage. It’s at that moment a song will play that is rooted deep in my past experience, and I will admit it to myself I get goose-bumps. Well sitting here in my truck this song started the water works to flow down my three-day old beard. I listen to the song and wipe my tears. I love the song, even swaying like a willow tree on a windy day. I don’t know why either, crying yet loving the song. I am mouthing the words to the song. I’m an idiot, stop it!


I need another glass of wine before Gracie comes downstairs and asks me what’s for dinner. I’ll probably tell her a ‘TV Dinner,’ she will cock her head and frown trying to figure out what that means. I will laugh at her and tell her how many of those dinners we ate on Saturday nights while we three girls sat and watched old episodes of some dumb show called Hee Haw that my father looked forward to every week. Somewhere in his head he thought it was a great family night with TV Dinner’s and watching ’his’ show. We girls rolled our eyes and every week we begged daddy to watch something different, anything, but no it was TV Dinners and Hee Haw. Secretly I think it was Roy Clark and Buck Owens country cornball music he loved.

My sister’s Mary, Marilyn and me, Carly or should I say, Crosby? Dad loved my mother dearly and all three of us kids. My father is a bit of a recluse now that he is getting older. Mom told me that Dad was a real hippie. Lived the life even owned an old-school bus. He lived in a commune for a year and a half, met my mother there. He met Wavy Gravy once He still brags about that. I had to research out who the heck was Wavy Gravy?

We were raised Catholic. Hence, Mary for Mother Mary, Marilyn that is easy, Marilyn Monroe and of course me Crosby for Crosby, Stills, and Nash. My dad, in my opinion, is slightly bent from those “free hippy years.”

“So now I am sitting here sipping my wine with all these memories going through my head when it happened. The song!