hackin' up and chopin down
Random memory: Summer. 12 years old. Orange shirt, blue sweatpants. Falling asleep, waking up with gaping wounds in mouth. Delirious and drugged. Wisdom gone. Pain present, but not memorable. Chopin.
Ah yes, Chopin. Grandma had given me a CD of nocturnes. It's to help with the pain, she said. I didn't get it at the time, mostly because I didn't get life. Or Chopin, for that matter. I was too concerned about my chipmunk cheeks and my seventh grade picture (note: for the 2340980 and final time, it's not baby fat! That is my face, aching and swollen, thank you very much), and the fact that I had just bought the craziest dog ever loved by mankind. But pain and Chopin? Most definitely two things that weren't really on my mind.
I'm pretty sure I didn't rip the cellophane off of that CD until last summer. I'm also pretty sure that I didn't start listening to that CD until this summer. And I'm most definitely sure that I still don't understand pain. Or life. Or even Chopin. But right now, those are the only songs I hear as I hack up and chop down these experiences that are supposed to be called life. And I am amazed, because Grandma is right. It does help with the pain. As I lose myself in the music, somehow I know that everything is orchestrated, composed so that someday I can turn out all right.
Ah yes, Chopin. Grandma had given me a CD of nocturnes. It's to help with the pain, she said. I didn't get it at the time, mostly because I didn't get life. Or Chopin, for that matter. I was too concerned about my chipmunk cheeks and my seventh grade picture (note: for the 2340980 and final time, it's not baby fat! That is my face, aching and swollen, thank you very much), and the fact that I had just bought the craziest dog ever loved by mankind. But pain and Chopin? Most definitely two things that weren't really on my mind.
I'm pretty sure I didn't rip the cellophane off of that CD until last summer. I'm also pretty sure that I didn't start listening to that CD until this summer. And I'm most definitely sure that I still don't understand pain. Or life. Or even Chopin. But right now, those are the only songs I hear as I hack up and chop down these experiences that are supposed to be called life. And I am amazed, because Grandma is right. It does help with the pain. As I lose myself in the music, somehow I know that everything is orchestrated, composed so that someday I can turn out all right.
I LOVE THIS!!!! I think it is one of my very favorite posts of yours!!! So neat!!!
ReplyDeleteYou're exactly where you're supposed to be, being an English major and everything.
I agree with Jefferson!!
ReplyDeleteI wholeheartedly agree.
ReplyDeleteAlso, you understand more of life that you think. :)