Free After the Dance: My Life With Marvin Gaye by Jan Gaye

a song about how it died.”
    “A song isn’t a divorce.”
    “He’s getting a divorce.”
    “I want to trust him,” said Mom. “But I know these singers. I know them all too well.”
    When Marvin arrived, it was as though he had heard that remark. He was barely polite to Mom. He resented whatever authority, no matter how tenuous, my mother held over me. In his mind, I now belonged to him, not Mom.
    He swept me away.
    My possessions weren’t any more than a hope chest from Pier 1 and clown-shaped salt-and-pepper shakers.
    The minute I arrived in the apartment, I felt a huge difference. Before, I was a visitor. Now I belonged. In the following weeks, Marvin and I fell deeper in love. Late at night, when Marvin couldn’t sleep, he sat in front of a little keyboard and fashioned melodies with such astonishing ease that I could only watch and marvel. As he pressed the keys, the wordless sounds he sang carried a lush beauty that was otherworldly. It was as though he was lost in prayer or meditation. After a while, he reached over and picked up a paperback book, dog-eared to a particular page. He stopped playing and began to read out loud. As he recited the lines, his eyes were lit with love, alive with a glow I had never seen before. He kept looking at me. I held his gaze.
    O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
    As glorious to this night, being o’er my head
    As is a winged messenger of heaven
    Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
    Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
    When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
    And sails upon the bosom of the air.
    “What are you reading?” I asked.
    “I found this in one of your books.”
    I walked over to where Marvin was seated and saw that he was reading from my copy of Romeo and Juliet.
    “It’s when Romeo is looking at Juliet up on the balcony,” said Marvin. “I won’t be able to say it as well as Romeo. No matter what words I use, I’ll never be able to explain how much I love you.”
    “I’ve always loved you, dear.”
    “That was before you knew me. But what about now—now that you know me?”
    “I love you even more now.”
    “I need to hear you say that. I’ll never tire of hearing that.”
    “I’ll never tire of saying it,” I said.
    His eyes filled with tears. I was weeping as well. We embraced, holding each other tight, elongating the moment in which our world consisted only of this embrace. No coldness, no cruelty, no pain, no problems, no heartaches, no hardships—just this closeness, this union, this love.
    Later that night he turned back to the keyboard in search of a song that had eluded him. I fell asleep on the couch. The sound of his voice informed my dreams. When I awoke, he was still playing. Day was breaking.
    The next morning, I rolled the first joint of the day and started dressing for school. Still in bed, Marvin accepted the joint and begged me to stay.
    “What’s the point?” he asked.
    “To learn.”
    “I can teach you everything you need to know,” he said only half jokingly. “We’re reading Shakespeare together, aren’t we?”
    “Literature is one thing, driver’s education is another. I’m learning to drive.”
    “I’ll teach you. I’ll be a far more loving and patient teacher than whomever the school provides. I think it’s time for you to leave school.”
    “To do what?”
    “To do what you’ve said you’ve always wanted to do—live your life with me.”
    The offer was undoubtedly tempting. Much of school was boring, but I wasn’t ready to leave. Ever since I’d been a little girl I had been told that I was bright. Quitting school didn’t feel right. Wasn’t a diploma the key to the future? At the same time, I couldn’t imagine a greater future than being with Marvin. And, truth be told, I did harbor a secret ambition to be in show business. I knew I could sing. I could dance. And yet I did want my degree.
    “Why should you care if I stay in school?” I asked.
    “I care about us being