I first heard Ray LaMontagne’s haunting ballad, “Trouble,” at Caffe Umbria’s espresso bar on Occidental Place. Obsessed, with the lyrics on a loop in my head, I had to have the CD. “Listen, just listen,” I said to Leslie. “Trouble” soon hit the top of our playlist. At the time, I was taking voice lessons in a desperate attempt to work through my complicated relationship with my deep baritone that Leslie swears cuts through walls. I toyed with radio and voice-over scenarios, but, really, my motives were far from vocational. I simply wanted to understand the range I had. Though my body was failing me, my voice was holding steady. But I doubted, seriously doubted, I could carry a tune or sing a word. “Anyone can belt out one song.” That was the advice of Rebequa, my unfazed coach. We set a goal. In four months, I would serenade Leslie with “Trouble” as a birthday offering.

 

The lyrics all fit. The mournful cry of trouble dogging souls and worry bothering minds, and the weariness of getting up only to be knocked down again, and then, suddenly, the embrace of a love that is truly, tenatiously, saving. I can relate, Ray. I can relate.

I had to use a little subterfuge to pull it off. At one point, Leslie found a well-thumbed print out of the lyrics, complete with notations. “Oh, that,” I said. “I’m using it as a lesson with an ESL student to help improve her diction.” Luckily, she bought it.

Leslie’s birthday did not start well. Plan A fell through. There was no Plan B. I couldn’t quite figure the optimal timing to set up the scene, though we did have a bit of a scene working out a new option for the day, hardly the romantic prelude I imagined. Finally, all I could do was take her hands in mine. Guide her to a comfortable couch. Pull my wheelchair close. Close my eyes. And croakily croon a little love at her. I got through the first stanza and chorus dry-eyed until I hit these words, “She won’t let me go. She won’t let me go now.” I’m not sure why she was weeping. But my tears were equal parts gratitude and grace. I believe I saw relief in her eyes and the pain of acceptance. That trouble might still dog us and worry might never leave us, but we should cling to love and affection.