Billy Joel Provides Part 3 of the Schmaltzy Trilogy

 #18 And So It Goes – Billy Joel 1990

Most Billy Joel tunes meet all my criteria – meaningful lyrics, professional instrumentation,

melody, and of course, a piano. “And So It Goes” was released on Joel’s emotional Storm Front album in 1990, although Joel had written the song back in 1983 about his relationship with then-girlfriend Elle McPherson. In 1990, if I wasn’t commuting, I was working at a proprietary post-secondary school, and I hated it. There was night class, so I didn’t get home until late, which meant I didn’t see much of my boys except on weekends, when they were usually busy. I think I heard “We Didn’t Start the Fire” on the radio, so I went out and bought the album. Arriving home from work about 10 or 10:30 meant everyone was already in bed, and I was too wired to go to sleep. So, I listened to music or watched movies and wrote a lot. The first time I listened to Storm Front all the way through, I heard “And So It Goes” – the last track on the album  -- and thought, this is going to be one of “those” songs, the ones that make me cry.

In every heart there is a room

A sanctuary safe and strong

To heal the wounds from lovers past

Until a new one comes along

I spoke to you in cautious tones

You answered me with no pretense

And still I feel I said too much

My silence is my self defense

Things went along like this until I started teaching as an adjunct at my alma mater, just blocks away, John graduated from high school, moved about 130 miles away, and the marriage ended. I happened upon a permanent job in administration, thanks to a tip from a good friend, I worked on eating better, exercising with Jeremy, and thinking about what I could do for myself for a change. In the middle of all that, the Food Guy and I happened to discover where the other lived. He was married and had two daughters, much younger than my two sons. When his family moved from the east to the west coast, I invited him and his friend/co-driver of their rental truck to get some sleep at my house. After all those years, I would see him again. I would see that he was a 40-something, balding, father-of-two, somebody else’s husband, and there would be no spark, nothing. I’d get some closure.

And every time I've held a rose

It seems I only felt the thorns

And so it goes, and so it goes

And so will you soon I suppose

Of course, that wasn’t true at all. He stepped out of the rental truck, and suddenly I was back in Key West. But I wasn’t. I was married; he was married. We had kids; we had responsibilities, and it had been more than 20 years. I fixed supper and Jeremy, who at that time wanted to be a marine biologist (which was what the Food Guy was), connected with him and ended up being his first high school intern at a field school on the east coast about a month later. We shared a bottle of anejo rum, and we talked until his co-driver woke, ate dinner, and they left.

I’m trying to abbreviate this story as much as I can, so I’m going to skip over a bunch here – years, in fact. I’m going to skip over two trips to Australia, and a third where I stayed and married an Australian. About how I loved the Outback, took tons of photos, and after seven years, was told by another man that he wanted a divorce. I was so depressed that I could hardly go to work. I was working on a two-year grant to write a history book about the part of the Outback where I had lived for two years, and I didn’t know how I’d ever finish. In the end, I had to have some help from my doctor, who was the best doctor I’ve probably ever had. Then one Valentine’s Day, late at night (I’d stay up so I could message friends in the U.S.), I

received an email from the Food Guy that said, among other things, “Do you ever get back for a visit?” His wife had left him with the 20 acres to look after, taking their daughters, moving to the west coast. We sent snail mail, emails, talked on the phone almost daily, discussing what our futures might look like. He discovered that I could probably weather another divorce because what I really was in love with was Australia. We talked about waiting five years or more until his girls were out of school and he could move to Australia. (I was a citizen by then.)

But if my silence made you leave

Then that would be my worst mistake

So I will share this room with you

And you can have this heart to break

And this is why my eyes are closed

It's just as well for all I've seen

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you're the only one who knows

Billy Joel sings this song solemnly, like a hymn, accompanied by a piano and a barely discernable synthesizer. His emotions come to the surface, and you can believe every word. That long ago night in Key West, when I scared the big, handsome Marine with the “L” word – I knew it would be a risk. I knew I’d broken our agreement not to get serious. But Joel sings, “But if my silence made you leave/Then that would be my worst mistake.” He had to know how I felt, or I would regret that I’d never told him. Now I had a hard decision to make. I had been negotiating with the University of Western Australia for a PhD program that would allow me to edit my book for a history degree. I had to give up on marriage #2. I had to admit, I missed my sons, and my dad and mom weren’t well. 

Before the housefire, I had all the journals I had ever kept, even the one I kept sporadically in Key West. I dug it out and looked for the “Goodbye Again” day. I promised my mid-20s self that if the Food Guy ever needed me, ever called, or asked me to be with him, I would move hell and high water to do it. I had almost forgotten that promise to myself. I told my husband he could have his divorce. (We’re still friends.) For the second time in my life, I sold almost everything and moved to another country.

So I would choose to be with you

That's if the choice were mine to make

But you can make decisions too

And you can have this heart to break

And so it goes, and so it goes

And you're the only one who knows

There was no guarantee we would be able to take up where we left off. There were no

promises except to give it a chance. “So, I would choose to be with you/That’s if the choice were mine to make.” When I saw him after an especially grueling 16-hour flight from Perth, Western Australia, to Dallas, Texas, there was still the old spark. We hugged like I wanted to hug him when he visited me in Arkansas. We kissed like I’d wanted to kiss him for about 30 years. I told him, “And you can have this heart to break,” but he never has. There were adjustments to make. You don’t take two old farts, two twice-divorced old farts, and mix in a daughter in high school, and expect smooth sailing. We have survived losing his stepfather and my dad, that first year. Our house burned down. My oldest son was killed. We lived in a 14 x 28 cabin for more than a year while our house was being built (and a motel room for 8 weeks before that). But so far, lying by his side is the greatest peace I’ve ever known.

Spotify: And So It Goes - Billy Joel

P.S. A couple years after we were married, one Christmas, the Food Guy’s daughters bought us tickets for an Art Garfunkel concert in Waco. I told the Food Guy, “I hope he sings, ‘All I Know.’” And he did, with all the feeling and finesse of a recording, but all the emotion of a live performance. Then two songs later, he sang Billy Joel’s “And So It Goes.” It was perfect.