Ain't No "Ex," Blues

The other night I went to the Coaster Theater and listened to Linda Hornbuckle wail. Got a ticket - all myself; walked in and sat down - all by myself; tapped my foot, nodded my head, clapped my hands - all by myself. Well, me along with 200 others. Hallelujah, Jesus.

It was appropriate that my first date with myself was a flat out, let-her-rip, blues session. I have taken myself to dinner before, and made my way through a I-will-not-feel-lonely-even-though-I'm-alone mood. But that was about being hungry, and out running errands, and oh.....I don't know, momentary necessity. But this I planned for two weeks. I knew this was a full-fledged date, because this was an event, it was the kind of thing you do in groups or couples. I love the blues; I enjoy Linda Hornbuckle. So I told myself - baby, go public; go ahead, cry yourself the blues.

So, I'm sitting there, all tucked in and getting cozy, watching people file in, mill around, and I over-hear these women sitting behind me. Four of them, about my age; talking just loud enough to make their conversation all inclusive. Then two other women, about my age, find their seats next to mine, and their chatting becomes a part of the over-flow of the women behind us. I figured this was a girl's night out group and it was hard not to get drawn in; so I'm sorta-kinda participating as a fringe entity. At first the conversation revolves around that weekend's art festival, and then moves on toward other local events, and then becomes one of those let-me-figure-out-where-I-fit-in-this-crowd kind of thing. They were all local residents, not a part of the weekend touristy crowd, and this, it became evident, was a significant identity marker. As they jockeyed around, deftly attempting to self-rank (as only women do), an odd thing happened. The significant identity marker changed. The most repeated phrase these women began using was - my "ex."

Oh Lord; help me, Jesus.

I'm on a date by myself, with myself, attempting to discover how to become "me" without "he," and I'm surrounded by mature women, who it seems have been at this a lot longer than me, and yet, whose greatest sense of self is in relation to an "ex." I start to feel a rumble-y kind of panic churning around in my belly, a frantic ache....oh lordy, lordy....is this how it is? And then Linda Hornbuckle takes the stage.

She belts; she croons; she jives; and oh, help me Jesus, she wails. There's something powerful that happens when a woman sings the blues. A man can play the blues, but a woman, she can sing them. A woman gets way down past the pain, past the agony, the self-defeat, the depression, and she hits - righteous anger. She wags her head, stomps her foot, thrusts her finger to the heavens; she demands her say. I ain't gonna be no "ex;" "ex" ain't gonna be my say.

By the time she was finished with us, we'd been to church. Oh, lordy; thank you, Jesus.