high hopes on velvet ropes
I did something tonight that I've never done before in my life. A first I didn't plan on making. It just happened naturally; just felt right, so I kept on going until the end. I went out just 'cause I felt like it, listening to my iPod. I left it on shuffle the entire time without skipping a single song. There. That's something I've never been able to do before-- leave my iPod on shuffle without changing the song, except for when I end up falling asleep, headphone crushing my cheek and iPod dangling on the edge of the bed. But tonight, I just didn't touch the thing, left it right where I put it when I closed the door behind me-- tucked underneath my sports bra, its white corner peeking out. After a while, I couldn't figure out why I couldn't be bothered to press the right arrow, why I was perfectly content with listening to each song that came on until the very last beat.
I passed house by house by house, car by car by car, and cloud by cloud by cloud, until I came across a view that startled me with its simple loveliness; across a bed of lilacs, there lied a house painted a soft purple color next to a row of beiges. It stood out, making beautiful eye music with the lilacs. The thing is, I was looking at the back of the purple house, and between it and the bed of flowers was a high fence. I wondered if the residents had any idea how wonderful this sight was. I wondered how many of the people in the cars that passed this exact location everyday would take notice. Or even the people that were strolling by. Did they see how the color of the paint and the petals matched?
House by house by house, car by car by less cars, and cloud by cloud by darker clouds. I still didn't understand why I hadn't skipped a single song. I wasn't complaining though, I liked giving each song the opportunity to sing its full four-something minutes worth of life. Sometimes a song that I'd completely forgotten about would come on. Very rarely I wouldn't be able to, for the life of me, figure out whose voice it was that was booming into my eardrums. Mostly I'd sing along and nod my head to the familiar tune. But always, I'd feel something different each time a song came on. I'd think of different people at different places in different times and how they made me feel. I remembered it all.
I wonder how you're picturing me by now. Am I on foot, or going for a cruise in mom's green Honda, or putting my old skates to good use?
I stopped by a set of swings and hopped on. Surprisingly, I got the tingly butterflies in my tummy. Yesterday, I was at the boardwalk at Santa Cruz with Mom. We were in line for Fireball (I don't know what it's called at yours, but it's the spinning ride that swings in a pendulum direction), and I was trying to convince Mom to go on the ride. "Remember as a little kid, when you'd swing really high, you'd get these tingly butterflies in your stomach? This is how it feels. This is a high swing for grown-ups" I told her. But I was wrong-- I felt it again tonight! But maybe I'm not a grown-up.
Swing, swing, swing up, swing, swing down, swing, swing, swing slow, swing slower, stop swinging. My butt hurt after ten minutes. I'm definitely not a little kid.
I finally figured it out. I knew why I hadn't interrupted the Mariah Carey after Tricky after Spice Girls after Etta James after I don't know who after Savage Garden after The Beatles after Britney combination... It was because, tonight, I reminded myself that there was a reason I put each song on my iPod library. Maybe a song stops sounding so good after the seventeenth listen, but I downloaded it for a reason. There was something I liked about it. I guess tonight, of all nights, I remembered why.
When I got home, I noticed a bug bite on my shoulder. Impressive, I thought. That bug stayed on long enough to sink its teeth into me. Mom was at the front door and began signing furiously until I told her that I couldn't see her in the dark. She let me in and scolded me, "Finally! I was getting worried! It's dark now and the shorts you're wearing is short! You don't know what some crazy people out there can do". I couldn't help myself from grinning. I was giddy. She looked annoyed and walked back to the tv.
Oh, I was on a bike, by the way.
I passed house by house by house, car by car by car, and cloud by cloud by cloud, until I came across a view that startled me with its simple loveliness; across a bed of lilacs, there lied a house painted a soft purple color next to a row of beiges. It stood out, making beautiful eye music with the lilacs. The thing is, I was looking at the back of the purple house, and between it and the bed of flowers was a high fence. I wondered if the residents had any idea how wonderful this sight was. I wondered how many of the people in the cars that passed this exact location everyday would take notice. Or even the people that were strolling by. Did they see how the color of the paint and the petals matched?
House by house by house, car by car by less cars, and cloud by cloud by darker clouds. I still didn't understand why I hadn't skipped a single song. I wasn't complaining though, I liked giving each song the opportunity to sing its full four-something minutes worth of life. Sometimes a song that I'd completely forgotten about would come on. Very rarely I wouldn't be able to, for the life of me, figure out whose voice it was that was booming into my eardrums. Mostly I'd sing along and nod my head to the familiar tune. But always, I'd feel something different each time a song came on. I'd think of different people at different places in different times and how they made me feel. I remembered it all.
I wonder how you're picturing me by now. Am I on foot, or going for a cruise in mom's green Honda, or putting my old skates to good use?
I stopped by a set of swings and hopped on. Surprisingly, I got the tingly butterflies in my tummy. Yesterday, I was at the boardwalk at Santa Cruz with Mom. We were in line for Fireball (I don't know what it's called at yours, but it's the spinning ride that swings in a pendulum direction), and I was trying to convince Mom to go on the ride. "Remember as a little kid, when you'd swing really high, you'd get these tingly butterflies in your stomach? This is how it feels. This is a high swing for grown-ups" I told her. But I was wrong-- I felt it again tonight! But maybe I'm not a grown-up.
Swing, swing, swing up, swing, swing down, swing, swing, swing slow, swing slower, stop swinging. My butt hurt after ten minutes. I'm definitely not a little kid.
I finally figured it out. I knew why I hadn't interrupted the Mariah Carey after Tricky after Spice Girls after Etta James after I don't know who after Savage Garden after The Beatles after Britney combination... It was because, tonight, I reminded myself that there was a reason I put each song on my iPod library. Maybe a song stops sounding so good after the seventeenth listen, but I downloaded it for a reason. There was something I liked about it. I guess tonight, of all nights, I remembered why.
When I got home, I noticed a bug bite on my shoulder. Impressive, I thought. That bug stayed on long enough to sink its teeth into me. Mom was at the front door and began signing furiously until I told her that I couldn't see her in the dark. She let me in and scolded me, "Finally! I was getting worried! It's dark now and the shorts you're wearing is short! You don't know what some crazy people out there can do". I couldn't help myself from grinning. I was giddy. She looked annoyed and walked back to the tv.
Oh, I was on a bike, by the way.