Shi

I met Shi six years ago last summer. At first, I had no suspicion he suffered in love like me. He didn't seem the type. Extroverted, percievably grounded, focused on the task at hand, and especially conversational, Shi was, and is, an enigmatic soul. In the case of last July, outside Early Bird, a piano bar right off Sunset Boulevard, Shi thanked me for coming to see him perform. I said my attendence was soley due to the fact that I had wandered by, while on tour with a comedy show from NY, and heard his piano playing from the street. I was immediately drawn to the venue. Most of all, I was excited to be the patron again at a piano bar, without having to man the controls, and be swept away by his performance prowess. I felt a connection with Shi right away. I thought we were only alike in the sense that we both play piano and sing. Little did I know we would connect at a much deeper level, once he shared his struggles with me over a freshly rolled midnight joint. "I analyze love into the ground," he graciously admitted, and openly at that. He didn't care who heard. I quickly noticed how tortured the artist really was, and seemed desperate to get his story out to anyone who listened. "My art is my only salvation," he boomed, putting on an epic-tale kind of voice that made me both chuckle and strongly empathize. I held off on my reveal for a little while, as to make sure Shi wouldn't think I was only spilling my beans to make him like me. Finally, mid-philosophical rant, directly following his quote of Kierkegaard, "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards," I butted in with my truth. "I'm like you, Shi. I'm excactly like you. And meeting you might just be the most important experience of my life." He was shocked, inside and out, taking a seat on the bench that lined the brick exterior wall of the club. "Seriously?" he checked. "You understand where I'm coming from? Love is impossible for you too? The better the person is for you, the more your heart and mind attacks them then?" He tried me, teasing his chapped lips into a side-smirk. I nodded heavily, blinking my eyes in a slow, aggravated fashion to demonstrate my complete and utter agreement, and exhaustion with the matter. "Do you have anyone now," I pried, while even though he might be touchy about the subject, my curiosity was piqued. He replied, "Oh yes. I'm madly in love. And it's the worst thing that ever happened to me." I asked him who the lucky girl was and he refused to go into details for her privacy sake. "Though...I'm gonna suprise her with a hot air balloon ride. She'll love it. She loves me," he divulged reluctantly, and yet excitedly at the same time. "A hot air balloon? Why?" I asked. "Because I'm full of hot air. No, because she loved it the first time," he reasoned. And that's the moment my groundbreaking idea surfaced. "ROCD", I posed. "That's what I call it. Relationship OCD." He had recently come to terms with the OCD part, but had never thought of adding the R, to give our shared affliction its specificity. I left with his card, and we've been pen pals ever since. He's expressed interest in working with me, as I'm a writer as well. I've decided to do far more than look to Shi as a source of inspiration and solidarity. I've decided to write his story. Or a story about him. A musical about the musical man, himself, who's own worst enemy is the love he desires the most. And I would play him. I would play Shi.