I have a theory that i-tunes makes a ton of money from people my age who discover that they can get their hands– ears– on tunes that take them back to the days of Blondi and Dexi’s Midnight Runners, and then randomly click “buy song” on various memories. Such access is both a blessing and a curse.
The blessing moments have come when I danced with Archie, completely full of glee, to “Come on Eileen,” or sharing “Warewolves of London” with Carter, pretending to touch our perfect hair along with the lyrics. Memories of lip-syncing on the loading dock with Aysin and Beth to the soundtrack of The Big Chill, or dancing with the hot German exchange student to the soundtrack of Stand By Me bring a smile to my face, sometimes even an out loud chuckle.
The curse moments are the songs that bring back memories so acute they hurt. My dear friend Alison Harbecke made me a mix tape as we were leaving Hampshire, Illinois to move to Bloomington, Indiana. She called it “Cool Chicks,” and I listened to it as I packed boxes, cleaned an empty apartment and mourned a lost pregnancy, a lost pathway and friends that I couldn’t pack into the boxes and take with me. I listened to it right after we moved, as I commuted to and from a job that only brought how much I loved my earlier job into stark relief.
Now as I play the Indigo Girls’ songs unheard since 1999, I tear up. I miss Alison. I miss my other friends from the Hampshire days- Ali, who felt like an extra sister, Kari woman of steel who also plays well with others, Steve who wiped off my headlights in the winter and gently urged me to take my coat to the cleaners, even Donna, who pissed me off every single day.
I miss the feeling that I knew what I was, my limitations, my potential. I miss feeling so strong I could take on the system and come out swinging. Amy of this year about fell apart having to visit the principal’s office for heaven’s sake.
Probably a wiser person would skip those songs- shove them away to the back shelves of the cassette tape rack. But they’d still be there, niggling at the back of my brain. I muck about in them, struggling with roads not taken, friends lost on the wayside, triumphs clouded by distance– parts of me that color who I am today, and hopefully, who I will become tomorrow.