I have always associated people in my life with music, but it wasn’t until recently I realized just how strongly.
Thanks to a dirty vodka martini and my general lack of inhibitions, I unleashed in a screamy singalong dance party sesh in the passenger seat of my friend’s car on a late-night drive home a few weeks back. I don’t know what inspired the two of us to belt it out like we were pure, undiscovered talent, but it was one of those moments where you know you know a person. When you can go from confidently stumbling over lyrics to a song your body and voice want to spill open to absolute silence in complete comfortability – that’s a person you hold on to. That’s a person whose friendship you fight for.
While not all songs are reminiscent of people who are categorically forever, music and sounds spark memories which bloom into nostalgia.
I will never not think of a boy I “went out with” in 10th grade when I hear “Wanna Be a Baller” by Lil’ Troy – because I was obviously so well-versed in drugs, guns, and sex as a 15-year-old. I vividly remember him deftly and swiftly hugging the curves of the backroads of my hometown in order to get me home just as the clock struck curfew, listening to this song while it made his car’s (not an Impala) speakers reverberate.
Outkast’s “Hey Ya!” will forever be tattooed in my memory when I think of a forever friend who once announced that no one could be in a bad mood when this song came on. Meanwhile, he was going through one of the worst times in his life. His baby was, in fact, messing around.
During a late-night listening session with a man I briefly dated, I shared Chris Stapleton’s “You Should Probably Leave.” It’s one of the sexiest songs in the most understated way. I definitely didn’t leave after I finished my wine that night, and still think of him fondly despite us not being an ultimate match.
On my drive home today, Seven Bridges Road by the Eagles surprised my eardrums when I turned on the radio. It will always remind me of my best friend. While I tried to harmonize with the best, the thought of this man, whose home who I just left, and our long-standing friendship, continued to stick to me like thyme-sweetened honey – because I have loved him wild and now it’s in a tame way.
The dance party; however, was none of the above genres. It was solidly Swift-induced with “Anti-Hero” and “Karma” playing back to back before we fell softly into the quiet again. I wondered if my friend felt some of the lyrics sting between us as much as I did.
Or maybe it’s me.
Hi.
(I’m the problem,) it’s me.
But, it’s still a friendship I’ll fight for - until my voice grows so raspy I'm no longer able to sing.
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