Neil ...the hidden door

I heard it said that there's a hidden door somewhere, where time stands still in windows that march across a wall that span forever.  And if I ever found that door here's what I would do.

I'd walk the corridor until I found the year that I'd been looking for. I'd step upon the sill, then step again and find myself at the age of seven with all my memories of each tomorrow still intact, on a Brooklyn road with Neil's home just yards away. I'd sit down on the curb, beneath his bedroom window and listen to him practice chords that he'd just learned to play, on a used guitar that he received not long before.  A tear would fall from my small eyes but I would smile because the beginning had begun.

And when the time was right, I'd step again through that same window and walk until I found the one with faded numbers that told me it was 1966. I'd step inside and find myself at the walnut door that led to the Bayfront Center Theater, but wouldn't enter yet.  Instead, I'd exit from the building and walk along the bright and almost new walls outside, until I came upon the tall white gates that never had a lock.  And I'd see a bus, neither old or new, and he'd be there, with his guitar and a cigarette in hand, leaning against an unmarked door. I'd walk toward him and look at his face through long blond hair and bangs that always needed cut.  And with a smile, a small, small smile, I'd say to him,"Thank you for all the memories you've given me."  And as I walked away, I'd see a question on his face, but I didn't have an answer that he could hear.  I'd go back inside and watch what I had watched before. Just he and his guitar alone on stage.  I would leave before another act came on, knowing none could match the last that had just sung.

Understanding just how easy this could be, I'd plot my course and find the next window I'd been looking for.  A scrap of paper, old and worn, with the year marked 1972.  And I'd step through to a crowd of people, standing in rapt attention, as smoke bellowed through heavy metal drapes.  As a spotlight stopped in mid-swing, the drapes would open and there he stood.  It was then that a miracle of sorts occurred. He changed before our eyes, from a young man, so unsure, to the star that he was meant to be. I stayed until the lights went on and the stage was bare, then left to find my window, just below some small and newborn trees.

The corridor was there and I walked again until I found another window, polished from the sun.  Etched in the concrete of the sill were the numbers 1976.  When I stepped through I found myself in some small room, behind the stage of the Winterland Ballroom. It was Thanksgiving Day.  I heard his name before the door would open, and ran past people who somehow didn't see me there.  I didn't care.  I had to hear his song.  He stood amid a group of famous people, but somehow, he still stood alone. His light blue suit caused all the others to fade into a dusty shade of gray. Dry Your Eyeswas over almost before it started and I left before he exited the stage, tears running down my face. 

The windows now were getting smaller.  I knew my time was almost up behind that hidden door, but I had two more places that I had to see.  The first took me many minutes to get to.  Whether time was slowing down or speeding up , I wasn't sure.  But finally there, written in scripted letters, was the yearTwo Thousand and Five. I walked through, but had to stoop this time.  Cars whizzed by and across the street was a parking garage that I had seen so many times before on maps that I had found in my computer.  I turned around and faced Arch Angel Studios.  I knew I wasn't meant to go inside, but I could hear his voice, when others couldn't  as he strummed his guitar and sangI'M On To You.  And I could hear the notes of his core band playing right beside him. I had to leave right then if I was to see my last place.  My true tomorrow was getting closer all the time. 

For some reason, when I went back this time the window that I wanted was right next door and smaller still.  It was only months from where I truly existed and where in real life, he existed too.  The window took me to a beach in Malibu.  I walked along the shore, my gray hair blowing in the wind and for the first time I was frightened, but of what I  wasn't sure.  I saw him there, in khaki pants and an open shirt, and with him were two casually dressed security guards, but both seemed out of sync, as if their time was slower than that of mine.  As the space between us closed, I knew that this was the last time I'd ever have to tell what I'd come so far to say.  He looked at me and smiled, first with his eyes and then with those lips that I had come to know through pictures of him running across so many decades of my life.  I spoke to him with a tremble in my voice that I couldn't seem to shake.  "I'm sorry if I've interruped you, but you see I had this need inside to thank you for all the memories you've given me, the songs and the music you have made are so much a part of me that I wanted to tell you, but never found a way until today."  As I turned to leave he grabbed my hand and said, "Thank you very much for such kind words.  I'm glad they've meant so much to you."  The tears came then and I couldn't stop, no matter how I tried.  He turned to leave with the two men following behind, still out of time with what was going on. He looked back just once more with a question on  his face and I could tell it was that same question I had seen before.  I smiled at him through all my tears, and nodded, without words, that yes, I was that same young girl that he had met before.

I really never found that hidden door.  For some reason its just not there for me, but perhaps if you look, you will find it where past and present come together in some foreign way.  And if you find that special window, remember to remember me, I want to thank him too.