Mix Tape

Treble Charger, "Friend Of Mine" and the beginning of music

I'm thirteen, sitting cross legged on the worn blue carpet of my bedroom floor. "Bye-Bye-Bye" blasts from my CD player boombox. I sing along while I draw in my sketchbook. The heel of my palm drags across the linen paper as the graphite marks a path behind it. The air is hot. I wipe a small bead of sweat off my forehead. The rhythmic whirling of the box fan reverberates in the window frame. With no warning my bedroom door swings open, jarring me from my peaceful state. I gasp in surprise but then sigh in relief as I realize the perpetrator standing in my door is only my brother.

His face is scrunched up in disgust.

"What are you listening to?" His words drip with cynicism.

"I'm listening to my favorite band... N'Sync, duh!"

"Band? You know a band is a group of people who sing and play instruments. These guys are just singing."

"So?" My retort isn't strong, but it is classic.

"So... they're not a band. They're a singing and dancing group. You need to hear a real band. Come here."

He waves me over and crosses the hallway to his room. I roll my eyes and fold my arms begrudgingly but trudge over to his cologne-spritzed den anyway. He grabs a brightly colored CD case from his CD tower. Gingerly he retrieves the disk I just know I'll hate, and inserts it into his boombox. Treble Charger, Friend Of Mine fills the humid summer air. I can hear the crashing cymbals, the beat of the drum and the wail of the electric guitar. My brother is right. I'm suddenly aware that there is a skilled musician behind each one of those sounds. This is a band that actually plays. This is the moment that begins my unique and beautiful relationship with music.

U2, "Beautiful Day" and a calm before the storm

It's 2001. I'm shotgun, on the hot leather seat of my brother's red Corsica. He's driving me to school on the first day of my Freshman year. "Beautiful Day" plays on the radio. My brother sings along and drums on his steering wheel. His hair, which he still has because he only just enlisted, falls into his eyes. He brushes it away, nonchalantly flips the blinker on and turns the corner.

It is a beautiful day. I gaze at the cloudless sky. It mirrors my outlook on life. It's boundless. I may have a few butterflies in my stomach but in this moment the world is bright.

I have no idea what the world has in store for us in just a few short weeks. Right now I have a little more time, we all do. The Twin Towers still have a little more time to stand. I have a little more time before I watch billows of ash flood the New York City streets, and wonder what it means for my brother. Thousands of families have a little more time to hug, laugh, and be together.

We pull up to my brand new school. The building is twice the size of my middle school, but I feel so cool not arriving in a big yellow bus. I give him a hug and hop out of the car, swinging my black messenger bag over my shoulder.

"Have a great day, Meg."

I smile and wave back at him as I walk into what I believe will be a wonderful year. Neither of us suspect the tragedy that will forever alter the path of his life, and so many others. But right now, we still have a little more time, and the day is still beautiful.

Superchick, "Hero- Red Pill Mix" and a choice

I'm weak, shriveled, baking in the sun. The wide plastic bands of the lawn chair stick to my thighs as I beg the sunlight to vaporize my sorrow, forgive me, heal me, anything. Even if I could just disintegrate into ash and float away, what a dream that would be.

"Evaporate me," I mutter under my breath.

It doesn't.

The condemning lyrics of Superchick's "Hero" travel up my headphone wires from my metallic blue discman and singe my soul.

"Cause you want to belong, do you go along?

Cause his pain is the price paid for you to belong

It's not like you hate him or want him to die

But maybe he goes home and thinks suicide"

I squeeze my eyes tight, wincing from the blow, and raise a bottle of Jones Soda to my mouth. The cool glass rim rests on my lips. Maybe the Raspberry Lemonade will soothe my anguish. I sip the fizzy drink. I swallow hard. It doesn't help.

Danny is still dead.

I tell myself it's not the same. He wasn't bullied. He was our friend. We just told her to dump him, that's all. They weren't a good match. We weren't being mean, but we missed something important. Something crucial. He was already too fragile. We could have been gentler.

The song replies.

"And any kindness from you might have saved his life

Heroes are made when you make a choice."

I stare at the stubborn sun and commit to always choose love from now on.

Stellar Kart, "Wishes and Dreams" and a Fairytale.

Wishes and Dreams by Stellar Kart reverberates in my musty dorm room as I stare at Instant Messenger. I'm breathless. My heart is bursting against my chest. It can't stay caged in any longer. I've given in.

A story. A fairytale. One just for me. These words he's written contain more than just friendship. We've moved passed commonalities and sense of humor. He has become the first person I go to for advice. The guy I want to tell everything to. And now, this story. Surprisingly, my friend is no longer "my really good guy friend." He is my prince.

It's still early and I won't say it yet, but I love him.

The May air is drifting in through the open window. The light and gentle breeze brings with it the aroma of blossoming flowers. Our love is blooming right here. It's the very beginning of something beautiful, and I can see it.

I can no longer contain my joy. I run out of my dorm, down the stairs, past the bustling cafeteria and out the double doors. I'm a bird on the wing now. I'm flying across the soccer field to Liz's dorm. She always said he and I belonged together.

I burst into her room. She looks at me bewildered. I'm nothing of an athlete, so my lungs are killing me. For the second time today I'm literally breathless. My head is pounding and every vein in my body is on fire but I don't care. I finally catch my breath and engulf her in my excited, giggly, tale. There's jumping and hugging. I love him and my friend is so happy for me.

Etta James, "At Last" and a love I waited for.

Powerhouse Etta James belts out those two first words and they couldn't be more accurate. I have waited a long time for the man I will marry and now he is standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for me. My gown is gorgeous, white chiffon ruched into little bunches, and intricately beaded. I feel like a princess, and I swear it's not just the tiara.

The aisle is lined with twisting willow branches. Friends and family gaze at me with smiles smeared across their faces. My father is already beginning to waver. I can hear it in his breathing, he's about to cry. I'm holding his arm and can feel it begin to shake. I don't want to ruin my mascara. I keep my eyes on my prince who is gawking at me with his jaw touching the carpeted floor. We keep walking slowly.

"At last

The skies above are blue

My heart was wrapped up in clover

The night I looked at you"

Etta sings swirls of beauty all around the sanctuary creating musical ivy and blooming wild flowers with her words. What a wonderful songstress. I'm so pleased to share this moment with her.

The aisle is shorter than I planned. We reach the end while Etta is singing the bridge, but I wanted to reach Mike at the last verse. I'm shaky with nerves and now there's an embarrassing lag. My father and I stand next to Mike sheepishly as the song takes its sweet time to end. Mike and I make eye contact and exchange giggles. The absurdity makes it feel more real. Reality isn't perfect.

"You smiled, you smiled

Oh, and then the spell was cast

And here we are in Heaven

For you are mine at last"

We both sigh with relief that the uncomfortable moment has ended.

Pastor asks "who gives this woman to this man?" My father looks at me with glassy eyes, takes my hand with his rugged, shaky hand and places it in Mike's. His hand is warm and it fits mine.

I am home.

Five Iron Frenzy, "On Distant Shores" and a baby girl.

The nurses have left the room. My OB has an appointment in another building. It's just me and Mike. Suddenly I feel a familiar intense pressure, and this being my third birth, I recognize it as the need to push. I exhale slowly.

"Mike. I think we need to get somebody."

"What? Why?"

"I need to push."

"Already? Are you sure?"

I squeeze my eyes tight and breathe a deep breath in and than out again.

"Yes."

Mike runs out of the room to get the nurse. They come back in and I inform her "I need to push."

"Are you sure?"

My body is trembling.

"Yes!"

On Distant Shores begins to play from my phone on the tray table.

"I have been scarred so deep by life and cold despair

And brittle bones were broken far beyond repair..."

"Oh man! I love this song," Mike exclaims. "It would be so cool if she is born to this." He sighs, "but I know it won't be that fast."

He is so wrong.

The nurses are running in and out of the room, scrambling to check on me while attempting to find the doctor. They ask me not to push. I am aching. It's difficult to catch my breath. They can't get ahold of the doctor.

The song continues.

"Casting first stones, killing my own

You would unscale my blind eyes

And I stood battered, but more wise

Fighting to accelerate

Shaking free from crippling weight

With resilience unsurpassed

I clawed my way to You at last

And on my knees, I wept at Your feet

I finally believed, that You still loved me"

I'm still holding her in but I am violently shaking and rivers of sweat are rolling down my face. They have located the doctor. My OB, the Chuck Norris of Obstetrics, strides into the room with no concern. She plops on a rolling stool and gracefully glides across the floor while simultaneously placing medical gloves on her hands. As soon as she's gloved, she holds out her hands and catches my daughter.

The song is still going.

"Healing hands of God

Have mercy on our unclean souls once again

Jesus Christ, Light of the World

Burning bright within our hearts forever

Freedom means love without condition

Without beginning or an end

Here's my heart, let it be forever Yours

Only You can make every new day seem so new"

And God did. Here in my arms I hold my tiny swaddled bundle. A daughter. A dream I have had all my life. My precious little gem.

Eden.

Brave Saint Saturn, "These Frail Hands" and the depravity of man.

It's been six months since I began remembering. I'm driving. I'm alone. My mind identifies this quiet as a moment to chisel away at my darkness. Outside my vehicle the ground is hard and covered with icy tendrils slowly immobilizing every living thing that still remains. The branches are bare skeletons of what once thrived. The sky is dark and dreary, there's no light to be seen. It's all dead. It's all over.

I can recall now the heinous things done behind closed doors. I can see the rage in his face when I threatened to tell. I recall looking down at my frail body as his son administered CPR.

I'm flying down the highway when "These Frail Hands" comes to my rescue.

"In this broken place where I was born

It seems there is no peace,

And the very soil that we walk upon

Is filled with tears that never cease."

I look at the ground whirling past me. It is filled with never ceasing sorrow. The entire planet is soaked through with the blood of the innocent. If I had a shovel big enough, I'd rip up the entire ground and call out every demon that's ever harmed a child.

I am so empty. I can't understand how to go on. Humans do the worst things. They pillage, rape, and kill. What is the point?

Brave Saint Saturn reminds me.

"When the concrete of the world

Becomes too cumbersome to lift,

And the cataracts of fear and doubt

Cloak truth beyond what we can sift

And darkness, darkness bleeds its way,

When crippling anguish clouds our sight,

The ghosts of dusk have bared their teeth,

Set their claws to bring the night

Hold on,

Hold tight"

Their gentle request crumbles my hardened exterior. My vision is impaired by the flood of tears streaming from my eyes. I wipe them away feverishly but they keep coming. I am alone, after all. I decide to let it all out.

I am sobbing, mouth gaping, snot running and unintelligibly singing along.

"Light of the world,

Your love, has never failed

And these frail hands,

They tremble as they pen perhaps their last

And these weak words,

Can never say what cannot be surpassed"

My faith is all that is going to save me from this darkness. It's the only light I can see. Now I'm pounding my chest with one hand while I steer. I'm turning my disintegrated heart to God. I'm begging him along with the singer of this song to help me.

"I need your love,

And most of all I want to feel your peace,

I need your love,

Let everything that you are not decrease."

I'll fight on so the things of God do not decrease.

Lorde, "Royals" and apartment 37.

I gather my sweating WIC milk from the crate delivered to us on our small concrete porch. I have Pandora playing on the television. Lorde provides the background music for our little life.

"I've never seen a diamond in the flesh

I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies

And I'm not proud of my address

In a torn up town, no postcode envy."

I place the questionable milk in our basic white rental fridge. The children are whining for lunch.

I take out the bread and count. Four plates, four sandwiches, two slices a piece. Eight slices of bread total. Eight less slices of bread. Next I count out the remaining bread. It's exactly enough for the week, not a slice more.

I stir the oil in the peanut butter, then spread it and the generic strawberry jam on the crumbly whole wheat bread. I place the sandwiches carefully together and then venture to find an apple from the fruit bowl. I use one apple and cut it into twelve slices, enough for four little mouths.

They all sit down at the table. I glance at the trash. It needs to be taken out. I hoist the trash over my shoulder, grab the key, lock my children in the apartment and begin my journey to the complex's only dumpster.

I walk down the sidewalk past 35, and 33. Then I turn left, continue past the mailboxes and eventually smoker lady on her stoop. She gives me a smile and I smile back. Her only other reply is to take a drag off the only thing in her life that gives her hope.

I imagine what the burning of the nicotine feels like and wonder if she really feels the relief that is washing across her weary face. I pretend that if she does, it's because the nicotine is killing the pain too.

I pass the forties building and the fifties building and finally achieve my goal. I toss the load into the rusting metal bin and then hop around old furniture someone left in front of it. I hurry back.

I unlock the apartment door and am greeted by the smiling faces of my four precious babies and Lorde still singing.

"And we'll never be royals (royals)

It don't run in our blood

That kind of luxe just ain't for us"

Sutton Foster, "Unbreakable" and I am not either.

I'm sitting on the couch, the kids are all in bed. I am holding a coffee mug full of coffee flavored ice-cream. The throw blanket is freezing to the mug. The little yellow clock on my bookshelf is ticking loudly in the silence. I watch Lorelai, a woman I relate to on a spiritual level, enter Miss Patty's. She's going to listen to another song added at the last minute to Taylor's horrendous town musical.

Sutton Foster stands on the stage and sings about her broken life. At this point, I have already experienced my deepest heartbreaks. I am watching this episode of "A Year In The Life" just a few months after nearly dying giving birth and then suffering the death of my mother four weeks later. My little family is living in low income housing, fifty yards from where a man was shot over drugs. We're so poor I count bread slices. My dreams for my future have been destroyed and I have no idea what the future holds now.

Lorelai has lost her father. She has no idea what her future holds and suddenly she is questioning everything. Boy, can I relate to that. I know the fictional pain this fictional character has. Sutton's honesty and vulnerability is palpable. It may be just a silly song. I know it's not real. But I am falling apart.

I can feel the heat rise in Lorelai's face as she experiences this brokenness too and begins to fear she's going to cry in a public place. I can imagine sitting on that folding chair with those stage lights washing over the audience. I can hear the crickets outside Miss Patty's. I feel her steely exterior dissolving. Lorelai is sobbing. I'm sobbing.

Here on the couch, Sutton Foster takes both Lorelai's hand and mine in hers and leads us to grief. I grieve my lost mother, my lost dreams, my lost life. Lorelai grieves the loss of her father, vision for her life and the confusion of her romantic life. It's a still moment we both share. One that allows you to breathe again. Everyone who has lost everything knows the need for that moment. This little pretend song is the catalyst for a spiritual experience. It's one of the most profound moments of my life.

Rihanna, "Towards The Sun" and my new life.

It's been a long six years. I sit in the passenger seat of our mini van packed to the brim. I'm physically exhausted and sleep deprived. I've only had coffee today, but I'm not hungry. My withered heart is so full.

I take in the little apartment one last time. Six years of calling police for fights and possible OD's. Six years of walking to the dumpster and saying "hi" to smoker lady. Six years of drawn blinds, locked doors and windows.

My daughter had pneumonia twice. I almost died. I lost my mother. A man threatened to kill my whole family. I swear my addict neighbor was scheming to steal and sell my baby. There was never enough food or money. Our safety was always a concern. Day after day I stood in the kitchen, stared out the window at the outside world, and believed I'd never leave.

But here I am. In the car, about to move to our new house. Our house. Where I can burn candles, keep a live Christmas tree, and not smell someone else's cigarette smoke. I've dreamt of this day for six years.

I've purposely chosen "Towards the Sun," by Rhianna to play in this moment. I truly feel like I am turning my face toward the sun. I can feel all the shadows fall behind me. I am ready to drive away and never look back. We pull out and toward our future as happy tears brim my eyes.

"Turn your face towards the sun

Let the shadows fall behind you

Don't look back, just carry on

And the shadows will never find you."

-Rhianna