I have another confession. I have kind of a thing for good country music.
Country music is like the guy who sits two seats in front of you in your economics class that you secretly mock in your head because he always shows up for class four or five minutes early and tucks his shirt in. You never really actually get a look at his face because you slink in after roll call and hide behind him so the professor doesn't make pointed comments about the utter lack of morning traffic in San Angelo in your direction.
You never actually hear anything he has to say either, because whenever you have to pair up to do group work for the class you scramble to get with the people on your right or left, since you know that he probably does the homework the night before class, in pen, and prays afterwards, and would judge you for your dripping wet hair and inside-out pants and would also probably be able to tell that you didn't drive the speed limit.
But then one day you show up early for class because your sister set your alarm clock fifteen minutes fast while you were at work, and you actually see him walking to class, and he smiles at you and holds the door open and asks how you are, and he looks pretty good in a button-down shirt after all, and though he does (ugh) tuck it in you notice that he isn't above a little five-o'clock shadow. And you decide that there is something decent and solid about him that you don't see in most guys, who are well-meaning but kind of on the flighty side.
The good kind of country music is the kind of guy who doesn't mind talking about nature or God or laughing loudly around people he doesn't know very well. If country music was a man, he would tell you that he loved you on a daily basis and would talk to your mom even if you weren't around. He would probably be irritatingly earnest and have bad taste in bumper stickers, but he would grill you a burger instead of buying you one, or watching you buy your own and then asking if you can lend him a five. He wouldn't mind being by himself outdoors at night but he wouldn't be caught dead on the east coast. He would shed a tear or two while watching the news, and he would be able to see right through you and all the things that you do. He would be all heart.
I would be lying if I said that I listened to country music in my spare time. In fact, this only happens when I am forced to, like when my old coworkers changed the station at work to Kickin' 103.1 and hid the radio in the supply closet where I never thought to look for it. Or when I am riding in someone else's car and am forcibly restrained in the back seat.
But I will admit that lately, oldies or anonymous singer/songwriters or Lupe Fiasco do not move me the way this genre does. Well, Lupe Fiasco moves me, but only when I'm alone in the car or in front of the bathroom mirror. Maybe it's because for the first time in my life, I'm not in the country music heartland and I actually have to seek it out. I'd never noticed it before, but there is just something about driving and listening to some guy wailing about the woman who got away, or making pancakes while some other guy wails about how he loves you and for some reason he's leaving Tennessee. Don't even get me started on that one about the girl who has cancer but still goes to prom. I will well up right here and now.
There was a time when I resented country music for his wholesomeness and simple worldview, but I've developed a bit of a crush on him since. I think we're both better people for it.
I might have to keep our relationship long-distance for a while, though. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
