That never happens.
Seriously, that never happens.
I tend to avoid it because I can't stand the sound of my own voice, or worse, people thinking I like to listen to the sound of my own voice.
And, there is so much sadness associated with that time of my life- broken dreams, broken hearts, broken friendships. Oh, but that's college, I suppose.
But I wanted to hear it this week. I thought Emerson might like it. She likes things like that.
Of course, that's no excuse for my continuing to listen to it the next day, on my way to work with an empty car seat in my backseat.
As the familiar tunes I had so painstakingly pinned burst on my memory from my car stereo, the short drive down Adams Street became a trip down memory lane. I could anticipate each strum of the guitar, tap my fingers to every tap of the symbols, nod my head to each "bum-bum" the bass made. Heavenly. Like youth. Like unbroken dreams.
I'll admit, there are regrets. Regrets that have kept that cd hid away in my visor for nearly six years.
But music draws me like lost love. After all, it's given me more than any lover ever could. No caress is so tender as that caress of the soul. And it's true, I've often mistaken mutual passion for mutual affection. Who can resist a music-man? What girl doesn't swoon over a guitar player? And two people who can sit for hours in intense focus on the same occupation, is it not love?
But don't get any ideas. I won't be calling up any of my former band member on this, or any other, melancholy day. Not everything that has passed needs resurrected.
Even so, it's good to remember every now and then.
|the whole band 2007|