Last March, when my friends and I were at South by Southwest in Austin, we were soberly enjoying a concert series that highlighted bands from Spain. The lead singer of one of the bands was wildly extroverted. He leaned off the stage, keeping his balance only by standing on the very tip of his toes. His mouth would open wider than my head every time he sang the final note of a song. His outfit, a tight red suit only added to the madness ensuing on stage. As he and his band entranced the audience, we were approached by a fellow festival-goer.
Pretty good show, isn’t it?
We conceded and shared our shock (and mild horror) at the lead singer’s limberness, which induced a response, which turned into a conversation. The man who approached was Charles McNair. He introduced himself as editor of Paste Magazine, a music centered publication rooted in Atlanta. After establishing that he was an Atlantanian, Jade and I shared our familiarities with his “neighborhood.” The three of us debated whether Jade’s suburban hometown actually constituted as Atlanta and I shared that “I lived right by the Friday’s and Fresh Market, on Peachtree, you know?”. Through laughter and slight disbelief, we shared our journey to Austin with him.
Through our re-telling of Spring break 2011 happenings, we disclosed that we were Teach For America teachers in the Rio Grande Valley. He brightened as soon as we said “Teach For America” and then shared how he supported TFA and thought we were doing “great work.” We relayed student stories and school frustrations to him and he bought us a each a beer as a means of offering his solidarity. With that, the Spanish boys (you’ll recall from a previous post) we met earlier in the night started playing, begging our ears with their electric sound. We thanked Charles for the beer and conversation and initiated a mission to have eye sex with each band member (mom, dad, grandma, sexually conservative readers, not to worry, eye sex involves no dismantling of clothes).
Before the night ended, Charles, void of business cards, scribbled his name and e-mail address on a piece of paper and handed it to us accompanied with an offer to help any of us with anything he could. I kept his note tucked in my wallet and later, when I bought a new wallet, I transferred it along with my credit cards and ID. Although I considered tossing it, assuming even if I did contact him, the likeliness I’d receive a reply was small. By the grace of the Universe, though, I stored it behind my South Dakota driver’s license, and at the end of last summer, I contacted him.
In August, I drafted a lengthy e-mail to Charles in which I fully disclosed my aspirations to be a writer. I explained how I wanted to work in underserved communities and give voices to those who aren’t heard by mass culture. The e-mail was long and before I pushed send, I considered that he might not 1) remember me and 2) respond to me. Feeling more bold than usual, I navigated my mouse to the box marked “send” on the screen and clicked it, breathed in, and snapped my laptop shut. Simutaneously, I felt a sense of relief and deep fear. Very few people know my aspirations beyond, “I want to be a writer” and I just word vomited paragraphs to a near stranger detailing my hopes of writing the stories of the world’s voiceless.
Weeks passed and I didn’t hear from Charles. Eventually, I forgot about the e-mail and drown myself in beginning of the school year tasks. Sometime in September, my inbox rang with promise. Charles, despite his busy writing life, responded to my e-mail, expressing excitement and a desire to act as a mentor of sorts. He suggested we talk on the phone and a couple weeks after getting his response, we meshed our schedules enough to spend a brief 5 minutes in non-e-mailed conversation.
Since then, Charles has relayed book suggestions and offered words of wisdom as I seek to realize authorship. Today, I received a package from him that included a vintage copy of one of his books, one that he thinks will act as a guiding light for a young writer like myself.
The Universe uniquely ushered Charles, a busy and very important man, into my life. From that initial ushering, I’ve gained insight and gifts rooted in my desire to write and his belief that my desire will actually matriculate.
Loving is believing in the dreams of others, I think Charles taught me that.
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