Any new Steve Perry fans- wanna be fans of someone else- you never know, but someday, maybe you just happened to know someone that wrote a book, and you never know what my go on from there... Message in a bottle…. (Preface- Steve being on the road all the time, had no time for anything real in life. In this story, hes lonely and maybe writing letters is a safe way in his mind to keep in touch, without having to commit. At least maybe thats what he thinks at first...... by Sue.) A golden drop of dew works its way down the surface of a leaf and slowly drops off to the forest floor below. Wondering along its way it is stopped by the foot of the young lady. A young lady intently putting the cap back on the pen she was just using. Carefully and meticulously she cares for her task at hand. Holding her tongue, she rolls and inserts the note. Then corks the decanter. She closes her eyes as if to wish. To wish for not material things, for of those she has abundance. Nor rich or wasteful, her wish involves unmet needs and passions. A true love. She sets the bottle in the stream amongst the current and holds it there to gain its direction. She checks it once more for its integrity and when satisfied she slowly lifts her fingers from its surface. It starts to float and meander. It wobbles slightly, and then begins to take on a life of its own as if guided by an unknown captain. Deeper it travels into the stream as she follows along the banks, overseeing its progress. It bumps and launches off a rock and spins its way around, working its way to the headwaters of the bigger tributary a half mile down the stream. The young lady poses on a rock out cropping, no longer able to follow further. She watches the bottle as it disappears around the bend on its way to bigger waters, and wishes. “I’m sending you tickets to Denver. What’s your address? I’ll courier them.” “Tickets? You mean, airline tickets?” “Yeah.” “Mr. Herbert, I can’t afford to take time off work. I’m barely making my bills right now!” “Look, do you want this or not. I’ve got other auditions on my desk right now and I can chose from an assortment. If you’re not interested……” “No, no I’m interested….” Steve hesitated briefly as this phone conversation was unexpected and definitely not planned. He breathed deeply but found he suddenly lost his breath. His chest felt tight. He turned for support of the empty and scantily inhabited apartment. How he wished there was someone, to tell him at least to go for it; that things would be alright. He felt his palms sweat as he held to the receiver. “You’re due out at 11:00 at LAX. Are you in or not?” “I’m in.” “What, speak up or is this what you have to offer me?” “I’m in” Steve said louder with more definition in his voice. He slowly hung up the phone and then stood there for another measure of minutes. Maybe his wish was finally coming true. Another wish was making its way over the falls, surprisingly dropping unbroken into the deep pools below. It was shoved under by an undertow, resurfacing in a rapid close to the edge of the bank. But then it boomeranged out once again in the main channel. It came to an island and chose left and glided free of the foliage as dark settled in the river valley. Watching from the wings, Steve seen his dreams laid out before him. He saw the give and take from the audience and flow of song. And then he became. It was a rare occasion that night one Fall that he would be able to walk the beach relatively undisturbed. Since signing, his life had been turned upside down. Recognized practically everywhere, it took major strategical planning to conquer an outing. But tonight he had lucked out. He took a drink of the brew he bought at a beachside coffee stand, stood and breathed. Suddenly he heard far off echoes of his beloved Journey tunes coming off someone’s radio. (Song?) He hesitated to move when something suddenly caught his eye. Adrift in the waves, a bottle. Green glassed and wavy. Special glass as if an antique and corked. It rode the waves onto the shore as if beckoning him. The sun making it shimmer as it moved. He watched. And then with a watery contact, he reached down for the bobbing container, noticing the note it contained as he held it to his eye. Placing the container under the safety of his arm, he headed back to his house. He uncorked it. And pulled at the note. “To whom this comes to be with, if anybody at all. You are now holding my spirit. My very being. My will. This bottle is from my father’s winery in Northern California. A winery of pride and joy that has been in my family for generations and probably always will. And although I love my family, I have visions of what the outside world must be like. I long to see it with my own eyes. I long to get lost like this bottle has on its wondrous journey, and maybe, just maybe, meet who I’m meant for. And discover what my purpose may be. So as you read my message, and hold my spirit dearly in your hands, please treat it with care as you would a true friend. Correspondences welcomed…….” And she signed her name including address. Steve sat there at his table, re reading the note, again and again, marveling at its fate. He turned his attention briefly to the bottle that had since become his centerpiece. How many twist and turns the bottle had taken to get to its destination, much like life. And what could result. He pulled a pen and paper, and decided to tempt that fate. “I am honored to have been the one to find your spirit. My name is Steve, and I found it wondering in the waves of the ocean, much like we all are in life. It caught my eye, and I’m glad it did; for had it not I would not have had the pleasure to meet you. I have worn the shoes of what you speak of- I’ve seen lots of landscapes with the job I presently hold. Although I’m thankful for what I have, I sometimes feel I want what you have; your family, business, home life. You must count your blessings. Isn’t it funny we desire what we don’t have. Maybe we could give a glimpse to each other and exchange feelings in regards to the balance of our lives by corresponding to one another. I would like that.” Steve folded the paper and placed it in an envelope. He licked it shut. Then addressed it and set it aside, to be placed in the mail in the morning. He sat there as the cobalt blue track lights shines down upon him. He stared at the letter as he slid over the green glassed bottle, running his fingers up and down its neck. His imagination always helping come up with lyrics, it was now running on a “what if.” What if this turns out to be more than a friendship. What if it doesn’t and it becomes a legal matter. What if this becomes the best thing he ever did and it changes his life forever. One chance of fate. He turned flipping off the lights and retreated to his bedroom for the night. “Victoria!!!!” Her father called out. No answer among the big house. “Victoria, you have some mail. From one Steve Perry.” He heard her coming to the stairs and seen her peer over. “Who is this, that my daughter is getting a letter from?” She started down the stairs with a confused look to her face. “I don’t know, Papa.” She reached the bottom and took the letter from him, studying its face. “Marco!” a voice called from the kitchen. “Coming dear” the husband puttered per his wife summoning. Victoria slowly opened the letter. And then she smiled. The bottle!!! It found a destination. She slowly backed up to the stairs and sat on the second step as she read. And become instantly lost in its words. Lost, in its feel. The letter flowed eloquently and lyrically. She sensed a natural harmony within its margins. She felt her heartbeat miss a couple beats. She then rose, turned and ran up the stairs. Retreating to her bedroom, she pulled her paper and pen, and began to write. A year passed of letters being sent south and north. Feeling had grown; new levels reached. Getting to know their likes and dislikes, thoughts and feelings. She included him in the normal everyday run of the mill family and winery life. He included her in what his eyes seen as he traveled from city to city. He made it a habit of sending her small trinkets from the cities visited. He kept from her who “he” was, for he wanted her to enjoy him for who he truly was, not for what he did. He turned and wiped the sweat from his brow, readjusting his tails as he moved to the opposite side of the stage. Always moving, he then ended his wandering back by the drum kit. He looked at his drummer as if to agree on the timing of the cue. Jon then started the melody. 3 notes was all it took for the audience to rise in their excitement. Witnessing a piece of history; feeling they could actually touch the song. Attempting to make a video in their mind that they could keep forever as part of a loved collection. And then, Steve started in. “Lying beside you, here in the dark, feeling your heart beat with mine…..” She turned and picked the pillow up off her bed and held it to her briefly. Chewing on her lip, she allowed herself to drift. She massaged and snuggled the pillow. And then she closed her eyes. She began to sway, moving her feet to a rhythm only she was able to hear. She swallowed and readjusted her cheek against the heart of the pillow. Transformed to another world, of want; Of desire; Of need. She slowly opened her eyes, standing nearly still. Slightly dizzy from the passion. She loosened the grip on her pillow and willed her feet to move. Walking over to her desk, she sat. She looked at the Dallas keychain that he had sent her, knowing he had at one point held it in his own hand. She smiled. Picking up the pen, she opened her pad of paper…… “You were in my dreams last night. I stood at one side of our valley with the grape vine stretched between us. You came. Trellis post by trellis post, we walked towards each other. Until we met, in the middle. You reached out, and touched me as the smell of the grapes floated around us. And I touched you. And we explored our passion. I woke up with such a good feeling. I have you to thank for that. Next month my family will be attending the Calistoga festival here in Northern California. I know you have a busy schedule, but I would love for you to attend with me as my honored guest. We can toast the night with one of our finest wines. PS. Thank you for all the little gifts you send.” The bell in the middle of the city center rang 12 times. People touring the wine community stopped and stood where they were. All activity around them- the bartering; the exchange of monies and goods; even children seemed to calm in a sign of respect, as the bell sounded. At the end, distant sound of hooves were heard and finally appearing under an arch of stone. Aboard were generations of wine producers from the area dressed in their finest colors. Victoria rode in alongside her father and mother, alone. She was then assisted down from her side saddle and given a glass of wine to hold. The local priest made his appearance. He made the ceremonial toast of wine and gave a blessing for a good harvest. Victoria then started to walk taking in all the sights and sounds of the festival. She walked passed where others were singing and stomping the grapes in a dance. She longed to partake. She made a right and walked in……………… He walked out……… of the underground market that was miles long and amazing. Journey had taken Steve to Tokyo Japan for the Frontiers tour. It was the end of June. He walked down by the waterfront slightly more free than he was in the United States. He sat and watched the Japanese Lantern Floating Festival (灯籠流し Tōrō nagashi) and thought of Victoria. How he had come to know her, and want her. Through her letters and words, he felt himself falling. Seeing her everywhere, even miles away as he was. He walked over to one of the festival attendants and received a lantern. Knowing the lanterns where usually lit and sent on their way to light the way for the spirit of deceased family members, he decided to change the tradition slightly. It was the bottle containing her spirit that brought them together originally. Steve took and wrote a message of love on the side of the lantern, and a wish for Victoria to become his. He lit the lantern and set it on the same sea he found the bottle in years before. And as he stood and watched it float away, 12 gongs rang out at the Festivals end. “My dearest Victoria, I’m sorry I will not be able to attend the festival with you, for business has me in Japan. I would love nothing more to walk with you hand in hand, and enjoy the fruits of your family. And enjoy, YOU. I have thought about nothing except you. I see you everywhere. In every sunset and sunrise; in every harvest moon. In every drop of rain or snowflake. In every sparkle and shine. I think of you when I wake; I think of you as I fall asleep. You come to me in my dreams. I wonder what it would be to hold you, touch you, kiss you. To lie next to you and gaze into your eyes.” Victoria read the simple love letter, doing so resulting in a smile. She momentarily lost herself to wonder. Not even aware that her mother was suddenly behind her. Her mother had noticed the signs; she had seen the change in her daughter and knew she was starting to fall. Thinking it was amazing that she would fall for someone she knew only on paper. Her mother embraced her around the shoulders in a hug as she held the paper. “Someday my child. Someday. You will meet your Steve.” She kissed him. So glad to have her baby back from across the world and the end of the tour. No amount of souvenirs from a foreign land made it worth not having her baby near. She then kissed Marv, looking directly into his eyes as if to pass some silent message. They were concerned. Steve had changed. They both had noticed it with each passing year of rock star hood. He was becoming duller and more withdrawn. Losing interest in everything, except the letters. They seemed magical somehow, and would bring him back to life. Mary longed to see the sparkle come back to her son’s eyes. She sat next to him, putting a hand on his arm. “Honey, go to her.” “I can’t. Street talk is going to press next week. And Jon is already calling me about Journey’s next record. He needs me to run some melodies with him….” “You need a break. If you don’t take care of yourself…..” “Mom, I’m fine. Really. I just can’t yet” he said getting up from his chair and walking outside, not allowing his mom to finish. Regretting later. “Why didn’t I stay and talk it over with her?” he pondered as he sat with her. He reached in his pocket. To a piece of paper that made at least for a few minutes, things all better and happy. An escape. Stability, while his world fell apart. “Mom and Papa send their love, as do I, but I think you know that by now. How much I love you I can’t measure. There is no ruler that long. No measuring stick that high. No meter that able. Only God knows what is truly in my heart. I’m giving that to you, along with what strength I have to share with you. Please know that you can tell me anything. And I will listen, and help where I can. I care deeply for you. I love you, forever and always.” From where he sat, a smile escaped. “Victoria, Please, I beg of you, don’t ever lose me. I hope not to scare you, but I’m holding on to your every word. For now you are the lifeline that I so need. My sunlight through the gray. I need you. I desire….. you. You mean so much to me. I long to come be with you, but my time is not mine right now. I’m not even sure how much is me. But I do know, how much I love you. It’s the only thing I’m sure about. I just have to figure it all out.” From where she sat, she picked up his letter and held it to her heart. She said a silent prayer. He walked away. Not yet feeling healed or whole, Steve drove with his window open through the Northern California countryside doing something he should have done years ago, while doing something else for years. That “something else” securely tucked in the passenger seat of his car along with an address. A “message in a bottle,” the glass of the wine decanter green and wavy. No longer a centerpiece, it contained a message and an invitation, to become a piece of his heart. He found the mailbox, carefully fitting the bottle in it to be picked up. He then left to await a response. July 7th- On the outskirts of California wine country not far from Lake Tahoe, he sat high on a hilltop, watching the sun go down. With the adoption of the Japanese legend Tanabata, Steve decorated a tree with strips of colored paper in which he wrote down his wishes and romantic aspirations. And then he lit a couple candles and a small campfire. He sat and waited, nervous if she would come or not, knowing he needed not be. Dusk lay upon him, and he seen her car. He stood as she parked. His eyes finally met hers. Her eyes finally met his. Steve took a couple of slow steps forward, as did she. His hands felt clammy. His heart beat a little fast. A lump developed in his throat. Scared but yet calm. He reached for her shoulders. And then, they kissed for the first time. Steve leaned over into her, shaking slightly as he did so. Touching her like she would break if he was too rough. He took her gently with his kiss, and then explored slightly further. His fingers holding to her shoulders, coming back to life from their clammy state of shock. His heart slowing to a more life sustaining pace. Feeling the happiness creep in that the pieces of paper provided him in years past. Victoria melted into his arms. She held him and touched him checking to see if he was real. She reached up tracing her hand down his jawline. Looking at his face, she was amazed by his eyes. She searched them with concern. “I’m alright.” Steve smiled. “Now I am.”
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 02:08:35 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015