This is the latest installment in my memoir project, written as a series of letters to my future daughter. Here are the previous entries: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, and Part Seven.
I promise this will be the last lovey dovey chapter for a while. And this one — well, this one was different.
I still remember his full name. Jacob Liepshutz. Pronounced “lip-shuts,” not “lip-shits,” but get the giggles out now. He was short, about my height, with a bit of a squeaky voice and tufts of curly dark hair, and with these deep brown eyes that could see your soul. He was the typical nice Jewish boy you’d see in rom coms, the kind you would be happy to take home to your mama, with one important distinction.
He could fucking shred.
The band was called Smiles & Anchors, and their signature song was called “Shark Week.” It was a standard issue metalcore song for the most part, save for the very end, when Jacob would launch into the most captivating, triumphant guitar solo I’d ever heard in my eighteen-or-so years of life. And that’s when he won me over.
It wasn’t a crush I realized I held until the night I stayed with his family in West Bloomfield after a show. We had become decent enough friends for him to have offered to drive me out to see them in a town that was the opposite direction of where I was living. I felt bad for putting him through all the trouble, but he was happy to take me. By the time the bands had all played and he’d finished packing up his gear, it was far too late to make the trek to the other side of the Metro Detroit area. So I crashed with him for the night.
I stayed on the couch in the basement, and about ten minutes into me lying down, Jacob snuck into the room with me.
“Is it okay if I lie down with you?” he asked softly.
I knew what was going to happen if I said yes, but I did anyway. And I never regretted it.
The next morning, he drove me back to my little college town, and I still remember him playing “Shiksa (Girlfriend)” by Say Anything. “I have a girlfriend now, no way, no how,” the song sang as we rolled down the highway, me wrapped in his old varsity jacket. I never felt this kind of…was it love? I couldn’t figure it out. All I know is that entire day, as I went through the motions of my music therapy classes, I still felt his touch on my skin, and every time, I’d get shivers.
For that month, September, we were inseparable. Any chance we both had to be together, we were. I remember the night of Rosh Hashanah, lying on the beanbag chairs in my dorm, studying the freckles in his eyes as if there’d be a test. I remember meeting his parents and his little siblings and how kind they were to me. I remember him taking me to his old high school and showing me around the band room, where he’d spent so much of his time. I told him about how I played in my high school band and how I desperately wanted to make it in music as well.
One night, we sat in a parking lot while listening to the acoustic work of Buckethead, one of his favorite guitarists.
“I have a band too,” I said. “Well, a project. It’s called Wake Up Jamie.”
“Who’s Jamie?”
“Nobody,” I laughed. “It was a misheard lyric from a song I used to like. Where did Smiles & Anchors come from?”
His calloused fingertips interlaced with my own. “I make music because I want to see people smile. I don’t do it for myself. And what you’re doing with music therapy…that’s so admirable to me.”
I breathed a soft “thank you” and leaned into him. Asteroids could have decimated the planet in that very moment and I would have died happy.
Then, one day, it just…stopped. I stopped getting cute texts from him. He didn’t seem to want to hang out. I went to a Halloween show, and he barely acknowledged me. It was like a switch flipped. I was devestated.
It wasn’t until years later that I found out he’d been struggling with depression, much the same as I had been, and just kind of…fell off. He never meant to hurt me. In fact, he didn’t realize I felt so deeply about him. He went on to join another band and sign with a fairly major label, and I went on with my own life. We did eventually reconnect and casually dated again for a week or so, but nothing ever came of it. I was still heartbroken, but by that time, I had a million other things to be heartbroken about as well, like the breakup of my first official band, Dethklok (it’ll make sense later). I had to accept the hard truth that maybe Jacob Liepshutz wasn’t my soulmate after all.
Even still, I have an anchor tattooed on my foot in honor of that time in my life — not symbolizing Jacob himself, but what he taught me about music and about life. Music is great when you make it for yourself, but it becomes beautiful when you release it out into the world and let it affect the people around you. The anchor is a symbol to me to stay humble and remember why I picked up the noble art of music in the first place. Music is how I have always connected with people, and if I can use it to bring a little light into the lives of others, I’ll be happy. Jacob reminded me of that, and for this reason, he’ll always be a part of me.
Sometimes, the relationships you have aren’t meant to last forever, but they existed in that brief glimmer of life to teach you something valuable. And to me, that makes it all worth it.
JESSA JOYCE 