They say when you're happy you enjoy the music, but when you're sad you understand the lyrics.
I first heard Sinead O'Conner's haunting rendition of "Nothing Compares 2U" in the 90's. Her voice, full of depth and emotion, powerfully conveyed what many people of my generation will recall as their first season of love and heartbreak.
"It's been seven hours and fifteen days, since you took your love away".
I never could have imagined the power those lyrics would have on me 34 years later.
The words pumping from the speakers conversed with my soul, and this time I had the maturity and wisdom to listen.
I did the math.
It's been 10,241 days since that kind of love and excitement knocked on my door in 1996.
Over the years, people have tried to help me break what some might call an unhealthy obsession (some with loving kindness, others with mocking ridicule) but I wasn't ready to listen. On that bright Sunday morning, something was different. I reconsidered. My eyes and ears were finally open, ready to receive the message.
I'd been holding on to the past for far too long. It was finally time to let go of shattered dreams and find some fun. It was time to get out of Dodge.
I maneuvered Big Red onto the southbound I-55 ramp as if on autopilot. What started as a routine drive seeking Sunday brunch quickly became a cathartic journey, and I felt as if I couldn't arrive at my healing place fast enough.
A few miles later, I took Exit 91 and merged right, later stopping just short of the red and white checkerboard water tower.
I arrived at Sandy's Place Restaurant.
The sign read "Fish + Friends + Family" and I instinctively knew the key to healing my broken heart was waiting behind the walls of that somewhat nondescript building.
Despite being 15 minutes early, I wasn't the only one waiting. As time inched closer to 10:30 a.m., individuals, couples and families alike began exiting their vehicles, slowly and politely drifting towards the door.
I smiled and made a lame joke about it feeling like Black Friday. A couple to my right obliged me with a friendly smile. What moments earlier felt like an open parking lot beside a desolate road, suddenly become a hotbed of activity.
These people were the real deal kind of locals. They knew the drill without word or instruction. There was no pomp and circumstance to be found. You could sense they knew what Sandy's had to offer, and that's exactly what they came for. Nothing more, nothing less.
The doors opened and, a few smiles and words later, I found myself in a corner booth. Through no effort of my own, I had become part of a well-oiled machine 13 years and two locations in the making.
I ordered a drink and sauntered to the buffet, where I served myself small portions of fried chicken, fried fish, meatloaf, and seasoned green beans along with a side of mashed potatoes and gravy. It was good old country cooking to the core. Everything was great, but something about the fish got me thinking. The breading was golden, brown, crisp and flavorful without being too much or too little of anything. When you're serving the masses, one must be mindful not to travel too far left or right from middle otherwise you risk irritating those with sensitive palates. Sandy's fried fish was like baby bears porridge — it was just right. On my second trip I found sweet potatoes, macaroni & cheese, chicken & dumplings, pot pie, and some of the best fried okra I've ever had. Despite a steady influx of customers, staff managed to keep the drinks flowing and buffet filled.
I chatted with a Chief's fan and received no judgement despite my Cowboys attire. No one noticed a brief ache of sadness cloud my eyes when I saw Super Bowl related content cross the television screen. No one encouraged me to give up on love.
That day, Sandy's became my Super Bowl safe place.
Great food. Great prices. Great service.
Did I just create a Dallas Cowboys party of one tradition?
I think I did.
As I drove away, I looked through the rearview mirror to the blue star on my cap, smiled and thought, "Nothing compares 2U, Dallas Cowboys."
Only 353 Days until Super Bowl 59 or Sandy's Place.
Either way, I win.
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