Since no one else seemed interested in what was in the garage, and since I was a naturally nosey curious kid, I began snooping and sorting through the mounds of stuff I had joined up with. One day while digging through a box of odds and ends, I found a small, obviously very old, battery operated AM radio, housed in a cracked, torn blue leather case.
I’d never owned anything electronic before, (notice how quickly it became "mine"?) and wasn’t sure if it still worked, but after swiping the batteries from a flashlight in the house, I was thrilled to discover that it indeed gave off sound!
At this point in my life, I had managed to acquire the misguided notion from my parents somehow, that with few exceptions (eg: opera, classical music, or the hymns at church), music with words was evil. And I also understood that by listening to such music, you would slowly be lead step-by-step down to hell. So for this reason, I hadn't been exposed to much in the way of music.
As I fiddled with the new little radio, I discovered that most stations were filled with static or had grown ups jabbering on about who knows what. But there was one station with a really strong signal, and it was playing music. Not classical music. Not opera or religious music either. In fact, I was instantly attracted to the song it was playing. The tune was melodic, but it was the words that caught me off-guard. It was as though someone had surreptitiously lifted my deepest, most secret desires straight from the confines of my heart and put them to music:
“Girl you’re every woman in the world, to me. You’re my fantasy. You’re my reality…”
How could those singers know that all I wanted more than anything else in the world was to be loved by someone? To know that I was “every woman in the world” to some wonderful guy. Of course even at twelve I’d had enough feedback from boys to know that there was little hope of ever mattering like that to anyone. They didn’t call me Kibbles N’ Bits for nothing, did they? But even though it wasn’t really an option for me, I could still dream. And dream I did, as I quietly assimilated the music into my snooping and sorting whenever it was safe.
But my listening wasn’t devoid of reservation. Maybe this was the kind of music I’d been warned of. Maybe if I could play it backwards I’d discover hidden messages in the music that were clandestinely leading me to purgatory in a hurry. It was, after all, clearly addictive, because upon hearing that first note I was hooked. I simply couldn’t stop listening.
I began to live in constant fear that my parents would discover the radio and confiscate it. Whenever I wasn't listening to it, I would change the station to classical before hiding it, in case someone found it. I couldn’t’ risk dad’s temper…who knew where it might lead.
Listening to music became my nightly ritual. Before I turned it on, I was careful to make sure the volume was all the way down. Then slowly I’d turn it up just a little and hide it under the pillow on my cot. If I could hear any sound emanating from it, it was too risky and I’d turn it down. Once it was inaudible, I’d climb under the covers, stuff my head under the pillow, press my ear right up against the speaker, and silently sing along.
“Even the nights are better, now that we’re here together…” their voices sang out. I couldn’t agree more. Things were definitely looking up for me.
I fell in love with the songs. Of course the station played a variety of artists, and though I did like a few others quite a bit, I was particularly loved that first group’s music. Lost in Love, All Out Of Love, Every Woman In The World, Even The Nights Are Better, Here I Am…each seemed to be the verbalization of my deepest yearnings. I discovered the name of the group was Air Supply. I had no idea what the name meant…it could be part of The Devil’s Secret Plan to Destroy My Soul for all I knew. But the music began to instill in me a glimmer hope, a craving for more than I'd settled for in my mind at that point.
No comments:
Post a Comment