I think most people consider me to be relatively emotionally detached, but every once in a while, I come up against a tidal wave of feelings that I am unable to put up a barricade against.
It all started this afternoon when I was cleaning up after dinner and getting ready for work. My new car doesn't have an antenna, so I am unable to pick up any radio stations. It also lacks a cassette player...I know it sounds ridiculous but I still hook up the source of digital music to a cassette adapter so I can hear the music through the sound system. Every car I've ever owned has had a cassette player. However, about eight years ago, I sold my car without having an immediate replacement for it lined up and had to borrow one of my parents' spares. They loaned me their Toyota 4-Runner for a few weeks until I found something. It too lacked a cassette adapter, so I grabbed the first CD's I could find on my way out one night: Against Me! Searching For A Former Clarity, and Rage Against The Machine Live At The Grand Olympic Auditorium. Every time I got in the car, one of them would be playing and I never skipped over a song or replayed a song, I just let them play and play, over and over and over again. And the best part of the whole thing is that I never got sick of them. Ever. I probably listened to each song on each CD 1000 times before I finally bought a car with a cassette player. I listened to those CD's when I was cleaning my tiny studio apartment, when I was cooking (or grabbing a fork out of the drawer for my takeout if we're being realistic), when I was clearing my head with a brisk walk around the neighborhood, when I was getting ready to go out somewhere...nonstop.
In the early years of my adult life came the age of the iPod. I bought my first iPod at a Best Buy in Coeur d'Alene while on my family's annual summer vacation up north. As soon as we got back to my parents' house, I ran upstairs into my dad's office and started uploading every CD I had in my massive binder to iTunes, and shoveling my favorite tracks onto my spotless new green iPod. It was the first generation mini and I paid retail for it because I was just so stinking excited about the concept of never having to lug my massive binder and Discman around with me everywhere. However, I found myself skipping through to my favorite songs and uploading only portions of albums that I really loved because the poor little thing didn't have enough memory to support my entire collection. Eventually, my entire binder was placed on the top shelf of my closet...left to collect dust and memories for years to come.
Eventually, my iPod died, as did my relationship with my parents and sadly, they got my entire iTunes library in the split. I've had several iPod's since then, but it's just never been the same. It took too much time and too much effort to get all of my favorite's loaded back up. Finally, my last iPod got stolen, my iPhone malfunctioned, our laptop took a flying leap and that was the end of my digital music collection. Since then, I pretty much listen to Satellite, Pandora, or just the radio.
So tonight I thought maybe I'd grab a few CD's to take with me on my commute to work. Sam went into the closet and grabbed our massive binder and we sat down and started looking for some good stuff. The instant he flipped the first page over, I was flooded with memories and emotions. It was like my entire life flashed before my eyes. This brings me to another strange phenomenon: I have a terrible memory of pretty much anything unless I can connect a particular event with a song. Anything that I remember about my entire life has more to do with the song that was playing in the background than the actual events that took place. "Free Bird" and "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" remind me of grabbing Mentos at a tiny General Store downtown with my brother on the way to church in his light blue 1984 Honda Accord. "Carry Your Love With Me" reminds me of making chocolate chip cookies and drinking Constant Comment tea with my Aunt every Wednesday night. "Ain't Gonna Lose You" brings me back to slow dancing with Sam in the kitchen of our first place here in Arizona. "I Heard It Through The Grapevine" and "Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes" remind me of driving around with my dad in his big truck and how he'd let me eat a hot dog only if I didn't tell my mom. "Ghost Riders In The Sky" reminds me of canning peaches with my Grandma in her creepy basement and her amazing sticky buns. "I'll Take You There" and "I'm So Tired Of Being Alone" show me doing homework at the kitchen table while my mom whipped up a batch of homemade fruit leather. I could go on like this forever, but I'll spare you...I've probably already bored you with too many details.
The point I'm getting at here is that, the second I saw the shiny discs in their little sleeves, every memory I've ever had listening to those CD's became clear as day...memories that I've forgotten if not just swept under the rug of my existence. They took me back 15 years old, climbing into my friend's car, grabbing her binder, and immediately deliberating over what we'd listen to on our little road trips; the excitement of receiving a mix CD from a guy and hoping that there was some kind of hidden message proclaiming his undying love for me; an age where I'd actually drive to a stuffy-smelling store and sift through bin after bin of cases hoping for a new release from my favorite band; of that time when my brother stole the CD's that he thought were too angry and ran over them with his car; of a time when music was the only thing that made me feel human and understood and said in the perfect way what I'd always wanted to say myself but could never find the words. Some of those CD's haven't seen the light of day in fifteen years, but they hold a very special place in my heart. The only thing that felt better than seeing them splayed before me was actually popping a few of them into my CD player and feeling like a kid again. I wish I had the words to describe those feelings but I don't...I'm sure there's a song out there that relays it perfectly ;)