We were right under each other's noses all along. At first, literally. When my (Mallory) parents drove me up to New England to spend a semester away on Martha's Vineyard for a "school of rock" few months with 30 other students, we got on the ferry from Woods Hole, MA. My dad and I stood on the deck, looking down at the water. My dad was explaining to me how the ferry worked, making a few guesses as to what various gears were for. Then we looked down at the smaller ferry beside us, estimating its speed. That's when I saw a couple of dudes with guitar cases-- one wearing a fedora.
"I think those guys are going the same place I am," I said to my dad.
"Oh, boy, I hope not," he said.
That was the first time Scott was right under my nose, to my father's disappointment. When we arrived on the island 45 minutes later, we climbed into a van where Scott and a couple other students (one named "Danger") waited in the back.
"Hi, I'm Mallory," I said, "Who are you?"
Scott flinched a bit. I could tell I was already under his skin. So I pushed him.
"You know, like, your name?"
"Scott."
"Cool."
My only instructions as my parents left me on the island after unpacking my things were--
"Don't go bringing anyone named Danger home with you."
So, I guess Scott was in the clear.
You'd think from there that Scott and I fell in love, and then returned every year to this magical place where we were destined. But, in fact, we spent the next few years following each other to Asheville, then Nashville. Scott dated my friends. I married a different person I met on the Vineyard-- wherein Scott was the Best Man.
On my first honeymoon to the Vineyard, I spent my morning writing postcards to Scott while I waited for the person I married to wake up. Nothing special, nothing secretive. Just a friendly bond between two people who pal around and sometimes play music together. Except that Scott saved that postcard. In fact, Scott saved most things I gave him.
There are some heartbreaking details in between, a marriage and a few relationships broken. A couple of moves across the country and back. But when the parts scattered, Scott was still left hanging around. By the time we realized why he was holding on to that Martha's Vineyard postcard for so long, we had already been a band for a couple of years, touring the country and finding out we were completely and utterly and compatibly destined for each other. There we were-- right under each other's nose.
This week we realized we were just an hour from the Woods Hole ferry when we played our show in Sharon, MA on Saturday night. So we woke up early on Sunday, parked the camper, and hopped the 9AM ferry over to the island. It was 48 degrees at the most all day. We got coffee and walked a few miles from Vineyard Haven to Oak Bluffs. My favorite coffeeshop is gone. In fact, most of what we remember is gone. We don't mind so much-- it's good to have our meeting place as changed as we are from 11 years ago. And it was good to walk the beach with our little dog, Pud. This time-- finally-- with the right person. The person we belong to.
This week on Double Americana, we are playing "You Belong to Me." It's a pretty little ditty picked by our pal, Crystal Joy Pepin, who also attended the island school of rock, though a different semester. She is who we called after our very cold Sunday Funday adventure, asking if we could park in her not-too-distant Massachusetts driveway. We've winterized the camper, which means we are now relying on kind friends and hosts to let us take showers and brush our teeth. It makes us feel a little displaced. But luckily that island not only brought us each other, but a slew of found family that volunteer their homes in a pinch. Perhaps knowing who you belong to is more important than where you belong, after all.
