Courtney Or: The Saga of the 30 Hugs and Kisses
A Short Story by Christopher Steele
Where do I begin?
Courtney is beautiful, young gypsy princess
And she lies a lot. So the princess part my not be true.
She came into my life at a time when, without knowing, I needed her desperately.
I was suffering, for a long time, from debilitating, petrifying stage fright. Which kept
me from performing my poetry in public much. I would schedule gigs, then cancel them or,
even worse get there and then walk out on them. Even when several friends and friends
of friends had come to see and hear me. I tried thinking of the audiences as my friends - but
it didn't work. I thought of them as my enemies, quite often, who were out to get me. Coutrney
helped me, in some mystical way, to get over that.
Not that I didn't perform occasionally. I did. And I had this most beautiful voice. Which is on my
cd which I originally recorded in 1993 as a tape. I have the master tape. So , I shall always
sound like that - for the ages. But at the time I met Courtney, that beautful voice had basically
gone. Performing, by the way, in my opinion, and doing really well is the highest high, including
sex, and any drug, whether it be alcohol or whatever - that a person can experience. You feel all
that mass love. On the other hand, the audience may just ignore you -or outright hate you - which I've also experienced.
Performing in public and doing well is like being loved - all at once - by a thousand sweet, beautiful
angels. Doing badly, on the other hand, can be like a thousand mean devils poking at your wounded
psyche with pitchforks.
Anyway,a friend of mine told me about the open mic nights at The Mud House, a coffee house close by
where I was, and still am, living. So, finally, one day I called there to get information I needed before
going. And they put Courtney on the phone. Who as it turned out hosted the open mic. Open mic
nights were Fridays. This was a Thursday. Courtney told me she would be playing music at The
Phoenix Coffee House which is even closer, that VERY night. And for me to bring a couple poems
and I could read them. I was scared and Courtney sensed it but she asked me to come by if I could.
I went there and as soon as I saw this spaced out gray angel of a girl singing and playing - that's
what she calls herself - not black, not white - but a shade of gray - angel, I was attracted to her.
And she recognized me as the poet as soon as she saw me.
Anyhow, she took a break and had me read my poems. I had taken her at her word and had brought
just a couple. I read "Sophia Loren's Panties" which is a crowd pleasing hit of mine, another poem,
and my "Signature" poem which is the one poem I always have memorized. And which I always end
with and look right at the audience while performing it. It's a big hit,too.
She decided right then and there that I was her favorite poet of all time. And she has never, no
matter how mad she has gotten at me, taken that back. And she wanted me to read more but I
didn't have them with me.
Courtney mentioned while she was performing that she needed a place to stay. (I discovered later that that's her modus operandus - she travels about and stays with different people with nothing of her own but a
journal and her guitar - until they get tired of her and kick her out).
So I shyly passed her a note offerng her my huge couch.
Anyway, I left there walking down the few blocks to my home with the voices all over me like a wet
blanket and feeling paranoid. Which always used to happen to me after performing. Even when I
recorded my cd at a recording studio in the basement of a local musician's house, I becme psychotic.
Stage fright and psychosis used to be the price for me to read my poetry. And I said to myself,
if this is the price of performing, I don't want to do it. But the next night was Mud House night and
I went anyway.
The person above the Mud House had complained - to the city I guess - or the landlord - about the noise.
So there was no mic or sound system for any of us that night - including the musicians. I was the
only poet there that night. Anyhow when it came time for me to peform, I got up on stage and
began reading my poetry. And people were talking and nobody could hear me. So Courtney got
up on stage and shouted to everyone to shut up and listen to me because I, in her not so humble
opinion, was the best poet of all time.
So they shut up - and they listened to me. And they loved! me. They absolutely adored! me. And
when I got down,I got lots of compliments. And Courtney said, before I left, that she would see about
spending the July4th weekend with me. July 4th came on a Friday of that year, 2003. Another thing
you need to know about Courtney (besides her age and mine at the time - she was 23, I was 57)
is that she gives the greatest! hugs. They're patented Courtney hugs and they feel so good!
When people hug, they put their heads on one side or the other of the other person's face. But
Courtney would do both sides. She'll say "Now the other side." She even does it with little kids.
When I got home, I was feeling so loved and happy! Happier and more loved than all but a few
other times in my life. And I felt all mellow and relaxed - not hyped up, as you might
expect, at all. And I relaxed and slept very well!
Well, to cut to the chase. Courtney's boyfriend, yes she had a boyfriend, brought her to
my house on July4th afternoon and Courtney moved into my place with her few belongings
and her guitar.
Courtney stayed with me. She slept in my bed with me. There was no sex. Just the occasional
hug and the less occasional - very special! - kiss - on the cheek. She played her guitar for me.
She wrote a song about me entitled "Me and My Poet" which I have heard her play and sing in
public with much appreciation - from me at least - many times.
Courtney had all sorts of problems, which I didn't know about at the time. Including mental illness
(like me), alcohol and drug addiction. And she did at that time tell me that she had been sexually
abused by an older relative when she was a young child. It had left deep, unhealed wounds in her.
Anyway we had, except for the fact that she left me one of the nights at midnight to go out with
some guy she knew and didn't get back until 5:30a.m.,a gorgeous! wonderful time.
We went to Pacers restaurant/bar. Ate delicious food. And she also had a beer or two. And we watched the fireworks on my t.v. She would stand up and give me her patented Courtney hugs right in the restaurant
or on the street or sidewalk. We were like a couple of kids together. We laughed, we joked. She enter-
tained me with her music. I remember I used to open doors for her and she would say "You're a scholar and a gentleman". Only this one time, she opened the door for me and, without thinking, I said "Your a lady and a
gentleman." And that just seemed so funny! to her - and me, too, at the time, that we must have laughed
at each other for about a good half hour.
Anyway, unfortunately, the time came the weekend was over and she left. But before she left I bought
tickets over the phone for both of us to go see the Broadway play Chicago at Playhouse Square in
downtown Cleveland. (As it turned out, I took her to about four Broadway plays at Playhouse Square
eventually). Anyway, I also told her about my upcoming 30th anniversary of practicing Transcendental
Meditation on Jul y 13th. She wanted to celebrate it with me but could only do it on July 12th.
But she asked me to think of something really special that we could do help me celebrate.
That day, during medtation, before she came over at 6p.m., I thought of asking for 30 hugs and kisses
from her.
And she got here, just about exactly at 6. And I asked her. And she started giving them to me right away!
Here. At Pacers restaurant, where she had the D. J. play The Beatles "Hey Jude" and "All You Need Is Love", just for me. On the street and sidewalk. And when she got back here until she left
at midnight. It wasn't 30 hugs and kisses really - after all. It was more lke a hundred!!!
Those were the good days of me and Courtney. I may talk about the sad days later - or not at all,
I don't know ...
Note: If you have read this far, may God bless you
and grant your dearest wish.
Copyright Chrstopher Steele Brower
A Short Story by Christopher Steele
Where do I begin?
Courtney is beautiful, young gypsy princess
And she lies a lot. So the princess part my not be true.
She came into my life at a time when, without knowing, I needed her desperately.
I was suffering, for a long time, from debilitating, petrifying stage fright. Which kept
me from performing my poetry in public much. I would schedule gigs, then cancel them or,
even worse get there and then walk out on them. Even when several friends and friends
of friends had come to see and hear me. I tried thinking of the audiences as my friends - but
it didn't work. I thought of them as my enemies, quite often, who were out to get me. Coutrney
helped me, in some mystical way, to get over that.
Not that I didn't perform occasionally. I did. And I had this most beautiful voice. Which is on my
cd which I originally recorded in 1993 as a tape. I have the master tape. So , I shall always
sound like that - for the ages. But at the time I met Courtney, that beautful voice had basically
gone. Performing, by the way, in my opinion, and doing really well is the highest high, including
sex, and any drug, whether it be alcohol or whatever - that a person can experience. You feel all
that mass love. On the other hand, the audience may just ignore you -or outright hate you - which I've also experienced.
Performing in public and doing well is like being loved - all at once - by a thousand sweet, beautiful
angels. Doing badly, on the other hand, can be like a thousand mean devils poking at your wounded
psyche with pitchforks.
Anyway,a friend of mine told me about the open mic nights at The Mud House, a coffee house close by
where I was, and still am, living. So, finally, one day I called there to get information I needed before
going. And they put Courtney on the phone. Who as it turned out hosted the open mic. Open mic
nights were Fridays. This was a Thursday. Courtney told me she would be playing music at The
Phoenix Coffee House which is even closer, that VERY night. And for me to bring a couple poems
and I could read them. I was scared and Courtney sensed it but she asked me to come by if I could.
I went there and as soon as I saw this spaced out gray angel of a girl singing and playing - that's
what she calls herself - not black, not white - but a shade of gray - angel, I was attracted to her.
And she recognized me as the poet as soon as she saw me.
Anyhow, she took a break and had me read my poems. I had taken her at her word and had brought
just a couple. I read "Sophia Loren's Panties" which is a crowd pleasing hit of mine, another poem,
and my "Signature" poem which is the one poem I always have memorized. And which I always end
with and look right at the audience while performing it. It's a big hit,too.
She decided right then and there that I was her favorite poet of all time. And she has never, no
matter how mad she has gotten at me, taken that back. And she wanted me to read more but I
didn't have them with me.
Courtney mentioned while she was performing that she needed a place to stay. (I discovered later that that's her modus operandus - she travels about and stays with different people with nothing of her own but a
journal and her guitar - until they get tired of her and kick her out).
So I shyly passed her a note offerng her my huge couch.
Anyway, I left there walking down the few blocks to my home with the voices all over me like a wet
blanket and feeling paranoid. Which always used to happen to me after performing. Even when I
recorded my cd at a recording studio in the basement of a local musician's house, I becme psychotic.
Stage fright and psychosis used to be the price for me to read my poetry. And I said to myself,
if this is the price of performing, I don't want to do it. But the next night was Mud House night and
I went anyway.
The person above the Mud House had complained - to the city I guess - or the landlord - about the noise.
So there was no mic or sound system for any of us that night - including the musicians. I was the
only poet there that night. Anyhow when it came time for me to peform, I got up on stage and
began reading my poetry. And people were talking and nobody could hear me. So Courtney got
up on stage and shouted to everyone to shut up and listen to me because I, in her not so humble
opinion, was the best poet of all time.
So they shut up - and they listened to me. And they loved! me. They absolutely adored! me. And
when I got down,I got lots of compliments. And Courtney said, before I left, that she would see about
spending the July4th weekend with me. July 4th came on a Friday of that year, 2003. Another thing
you need to know about Courtney (besides her age and mine at the time - she was 23, I was 57)
is that she gives the greatest! hugs. They're patented Courtney hugs and they feel so good!
When people hug, they put their heads on one side or the other of the other person's face. But
Courtney would do both sides. She'll say "Now the other side." She even does it with little kids.
When I got home, I was feeling so loved and happy! Happier and more loved than all but a few
other times in my life. And I felt all mellow and relaxed - not hyped up, as you might
expect, at all. And I relaxed and slept very well!
Well, to cut to the chase. Courtney's boyfriend, yes she had a boyfriend, brought her to
my house on July4th afternoon and Courtney moved into my place with her few belongings
and her guitar.
Courtney stayed with me. She slept in my bed with me. There was no sex. Just the occasional
hug and the less occasional - very special! - kiss - on the cheek. She played her guitar for me.
She wrote a song about me entitled "Me and My Poet" which I have heard her play and sing in
public with much appreciation - from me at least - many times.
Courtney had all sorts of problems, which I didn't know about at the time. Including mental illness
(like me), alcohol and drug addiction. And she did at that time tell me that she had been sexually
abused by an older relative when she was a young child. It had left deep, unhealed wounds in her.
Anyway we had, except for the fact that she left me one of the nights at midnight to go out with
some guy she knew and didn't get back until 5:30a.m.,a gorgeous! wonderful time.
We went to Pacers restaurant/bar. Ate delicious food. And she also had a beer or two. And we watched the fireworks on my t.v. She would stand up and give me her patented Courtney hugs right in the restaurant
or on the street or sidewalk. We were like a couple of kids together. We laughed, we joked. She enter-
tained me with her music. I remember I used to open doors for her and she would say "You're a scholar and a gentleman". Only this one time, she opened the door for me and, without thinking, I said "Your a lady and a
gentleman." And that just seemed so funny! to her - and me, too, at the time, that we must have laughed
at each other for about a good half hour.
Anyway, unfortunately, the time came the weekend was over and she left. But before she left I bought
tickets over the phone for both of us to go see the Broadway play Chicago at Playhouse Square in
downtown Cleveland. (As it turned out, I took her to about four Broadway plays at Playhouse Square
eventually). Anyway, I also told her about my upcoming 30th anniversary of practicing Transcendental
Meditation on Jul y 13th. She wanted to celebrate it with me but could only do it on July 12th.
But she asked me to think of something really special that we could do help me celebrate.
That day, during medtation, before she came over at 6p.m., I thought of asking for 30 hugs and kisses
from her.
And she got here, just about exactly at 6. And I asked her. And she started giving them to me right away!
Here. At Pacers restaurant, where she had the D. J. play The Beatles "Hey Jude" and "All You Need Is Love", just for me. On the street and sidewalk. And when she got back here until she left
at midnight. It wasn't 30 hugs and kisses really - after all. It was more lke a hundred!!!
Those were the good days of me and Courtney. I may talk about the sad days later - or not at all,
I don't know ...
Note: If you have read this far, may God bless you
and grant your dearest wish.
Copyright Chrstopher Steele Brower
VIEW 26 of 26 COMMENTS
i want to hear more about courtney.
do you now if she's still in your area?
don't you ever wonder what she's up to? i would all the time.
i give really good hugs too, hopefully one day you'll see for yourself.