Brigit's Flame Entry- Week 1 January
Title: Somebody Else's Mixtape
Author: Keppiehed
Disclaimer: I only own the story, not any of the songs or lyrics I referenced. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1276
Prompt: “Tragically Hip”
A/N: Written for week #1 at Brigits_flame. There are numerous references to bands/singers/lyrics throughout, and they retain full credit for their material. I didn't write that stuff, just the story surrounding. That was all for credibility (if anyone else here is old enough to relate and thus allow me to gain credibility by the reference).
“This car sucks, Mom.”
Amanda gripped the wheel and tried not to let her irritation show. “It's all we could-”
“Afford, I know. It still sucks. It doesn't even have dual-zone climate control like the van used to.” Melanie twisted the knobs on the old Pontiac. “I can't believe you bought this thing.”
Amanda focused on breathing and clamped her lips together to prevent pointing out that she'd had no choice. Melanie knew it as well as she did, and she didn't want to start an argument. The last thing they needed was to get in another fight. “Can you get out the map and help me navigate? I thought I knew where the freeway was ...”
“Our van had GPS,” Melanie said. “This sucks.”
“So you've said three times in the last five minutes,” Amanda gritted out, her annoyance flaring. Did any of this look like her fault? As if she wanted to drive some junker. God, if only Brian hadn't … tears flooded her eyes at the mere thought of his name, and Amanda let her hair fall forward to hide her face. She had to get herself together. “Please,” she said. “I could use your help. I'm looking for an entrance ramp to I-75.”
“Whatever.” Melanie yanked open the glove compartment and rifled through. “The guy left a lot of junk in here.”
Amanda wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Oh yeah? Like what? Hopefully a map.”
“A pack of tissues. A flashlight.” Melanie clicked it, testing. “It's dead. A Visual Guide to Knowing Your Birds and this piece of junk.” She held up a plastic rectangle. “A new-age coaster?”
Amanda glanced over. “How can you not know what a cassette tape is? How old are you?”
“A cassette?” Melanie peered at it. “'Gary's Groovetape Two?'”
“A mixtape! I haven't heard one in years. Oh my God, I totally forgot about those.” Amanda felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth in spite of herself. “Before the days of CDs-”
“You mean MP3s, right?”
“Uh, yeah. God, I'm old. Back in the day, we'd record this right off the radio. Our own mix. It was hard to get it just right, because there was a lag, and sometimes you'd get the deejay's voice if you weren't-”
“God, Mom. Spare me the history and just put it in already.” Melanie yawned. “Let's see what kind of music Gary grooved to.”
“Well, you need a tape deck.” Amanda took her eyes off the controls and searched the stereo. She hadn't even looked at it when she bought the car. She couldn't afford to care about those things now. “And there it is. Stick it in. Not like that! Be careful, that's actual tape. Sideways, like this.” Amanda aligned the cassette and shoved the tape in. She had to keep pushing, which felt unnatural. She'd grown accustomed to the sleek automatic action of her van. To have to push it in manually was unpleasing.
There was quite a bit of static before the first song came on. Then Amanda had to laugh. “It's Mambo Number Five!” she said, delighted. “I haven't heard this in … so long!” The beat was as cheesy as she remembered, but as the song continued, she remembered all the words. Somehow, even thought it was silly and dated, it lifted her spirits. “You were about three years old when this was a hit. They played this over and over on the radio that summer. I thought I was going to go crazy, but you loved it! You'd bop around in your little tutu. You were so cute.” Amanda smiled as she remembered the sight. The song brought back strong memories, though she didn't remember having a particular fondness for it at the time.
“I liked this song? I don't remember that,” Melanie said, cocking her head. “It's lame.”
“I know.” Amanda grinned. “You should have heard the Macarena.”
The song ended and the next one came on. Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Sometimes I feel like my only friend …
“The Red Hot Chili Peppers! Oh, this takes me back,” Amanda said.
“Who?” Melanie asked.
“Are you kidding me? I can't believe you don't know them.” Amanda listened to the song. She remembered every word. The next band after that was The Tragically Hip, then Nirvana. Amanda felt like a voyeur into Gary's life through his musical choices, but each song was a time capsule. Each song meant something different to her, even though when she was going through the event it had all been background noise. She hadn't loved The Violent Femmes or Jane's Addiction, but she remembered losing her virginity in the backseat of Brian's car to “Been Caught Stealin'”, which was the last song on the first side of the mixtape. Amanda shook her head. “I can't believe you don't know these people. How can you never have heard of Billy Joel, even?”
“Um, he was probably the Taylor Swift of my time. Come on, Mom.” Melanie blew a bubble with her gum. “Can we turn off this racket? Your old-fogie stuff is giving me a headache.”
“One more song,” Amanda said. “Then we'll stop for something to eat, okay?”
“Whatever.”
The tape took awhile to get moving. There were a few false starts where Gary had apparently had trouble with the buffer editing. Amanda could relate, remembering how tough it was to get all three buttons on the tape deck to connect and line up perfectly. There were a few notes, then it restarted. Then the song started in earnest, the notes of a plaintive acoustic guitar filling the air.
“What's this one? It's pretty,” Melanie said.
Amanda couldn't answer. This was their song. Hers and Brian's. She was frozen, her hands stuck at ten and two, as the chords spilled out and Bret Michael's voice seemed to come right through the speaker and sing to her. She fell through time and she was slow dancing, her hands on Brian's shoulders. He was so young then. It was Prom, and he'd shaved and put on the carnation to match her corsage. Amanda could see it like it was happening right now. As Poison sang about every rose having its thorn, she was seeing her husband again, before he was sick. Before he was gone, forever, in what felt like the blink of an eye.
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
but the scar, that scar remains
“Mom? Mom!”
Amanda realized she'd been driving without seeing for the last five minutes. There was static on the radio. That had been the last song.
“I guess this car doesn't really suck.” Melanie wouldn't look at her. “I love you, Mom.”
Amanda swallowed. “I love you, too. More than you'll know.”
“I found this.” Melanie held up a map. “It says here that the on-ramp is in the next ten miles.”
Amanda felt a weight lift. She could do this. “Then we're right on track. We're not lost at all. Let's go home.” Amanda looked to her daughter, and for the first time, she thought it might turn out okay after all. “You wanna hear some more Lou Bega?”
“Mom, don't push your luck.”
Author: Keppiehed
Disclaimer: I only own the story, not any of the songs or lyrics I referenced. No copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1276
Prompt: “Tragically Hip”
A/N: Written for week #1 at Brigits_flame. There are numerous references to bands/singers/lyrics throughout, and they retain full credit for their material. I didn't write that stuff, just the story surrounding. That was all for credibility (if anyone else here is old enough to relate and thus allow me to gain credibility by the reference).
“This car sucks, Mom.”
Amanda gripped the wheel and tried not to let her irritation show. “It's all we could-”
“Afford, I know. It still sucks. It doesn't even have dual-zone climate control like the van used to.” Melanie twisted the knobs on the old Pontiac. “I can't believe you bought this thing.”
Amanda focused on breathing and clamped her lips together to prevent pointing out that she'd had no choice. Melanie knew it as well as she did, and she didn't want to start an argument. The last thing they needed was to get in another fight. “Can you get out the map and help me navigate? I thought I knew where the freeway was ...”
“Our van had GPS,” Melanie said. “This sucks.”
“So you've said three times in the last five minutes,” Amanda gritted out, her annoyance flaring. Did any of this look like her fault? As if she wanted to drive some junker. God, if only Brian hadn't … tears flooded her eyes at the mere thought of his name, and Amanda let her hair fall forward to hide her face. She had to get herself together. “Please,” she said. “I could use your help. I'm looking for an entrance ramp to I-75.”
“Whatever.” Melanie yanked open the glove compartment and rifled through. “The guy left a lot of junk in here.”
Amanda wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Oh yeah? Like what? Hopefully a map.”
“A pack of tissues. A flashlight.” Melanie clicked it, testing. “It's dead. A Visual Guide to Knowing Your Birds and this piece of junk.” She held up a plastic rectangle. “A new-age coaster?”
Amanda glanced over. “How can you not know what a cassette tape is? How old are you?”
“A cassette?” Melanie peered at it. “'Gary's Groovetape Two?'”
“A mixtape! I haven't heard one in years. Oh my God, I totally forgot about those.” Amanda felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth in spite of herself. “Before the days of CDs-”
“You mean MP3s, right?”
“Uh, yeah. God, I'm old. Back in the day, we'd record this right off the radio. Our own mix. It was hard to get it just right, because there was a lag, and sometimes you'd get the deejay's voice if you weren't-”
“God, Mom. Spare me the history and just put it in already.” Melanie yawned. “Let's see what kind of music Gary grooved to.”
“Well, you need a tape deck.” Amanda took her eyes off the controls and searched the stereo. She hadn't even looked at it when she bought the car. She couldn't afford to care about those things now. “And there it is. Stick it in. Not like that! Be careful, that's actual tape. Sideways, like this.” Amanda aligned the cassette and shoved the tape in. She had to keep pushing, which felt unnatural. She'd grown accustomed to the sleek automatic action of her van. To have to push it in manually was unpleasing.
There was quite a bit of static before the first song came on. Then Amanda had to laugh. “It's Mambo Number Five!” she said, delighted. “I haven't heard this in … so long!” The beat was as cheesy as she remembered, but as the song continued, she remembered all the words. Somehow, even thought it was silly and dated, it lifted her spirits. “You were about three years old when this was a hit. They played this over and over on the radio that summer. I thought I was going to go crazy, but you loved it! You'd bop around in your little tutu. You were so cute.” Amanda smiled as she remembered the sight. The song brought back strong memories, though she didn't remember having a particular fondness for it at the time.
“I liked this song? I don't remember that,” Melanie said, cocking her head. “It's lame.”
“I know.” Amanda grinned. “You should have heard the Macarena.”
The song ended and the next one came on. Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Sometimes I feel like my only friend …
“The Red Hot Chili Peppers! Oh, this takes me back,” Amanda said.
“Who?” Melanie asked.
“Are you kidding me? I can't believe you don't know them.” Amanda listened to the song. She remembered every word. The next band after that was The Tragically Hip, then Nirvana. Amanda felt like a voyeur into Gary's life through his musical choices, but each song was a time capsule. Each song meant something different to her, even though when she was going through the event it had all been background noise. She hadn't loved The Violent Femmes or Jane's Addiction, but she remembered losing her virginity in the backseat of Brian's car to “Been Caught Stealin'”, which was the last song on the first side of the mixtape. Amanda shook her head. “I can't believe you don't know these people. How can you never have heard of Billy Joel, even?”
“Um, he was probably the Taylor Swift of my time. Come on, Mom.” Melanie blew a bubble with her gum. “Can we turn off this racket? Your old-fogie stuff is giving me a headache.”
“One more song,” Amanda said. “Then we'll stop for something to eat, okay?”
“Whatever.”
The tape took awhile to get moving. There were a few false starts where Gary had apparently had trouble with the buffer editing. Amanda could relate, remembering how tough it was to get all three buttons on the tape deck to connect and line up perfectly. There were a few notes, then it restarted. Then the song started in earnest, the notes of a plaintive acoustic guitar filling the air.
“What's this one? It's pretty,” Melanie said.
Amanda couldn't answer. This was their song. Hers and Brian's. She was frozen, her hands stuck at ten and two, as the chords spilled out and Bret Michael's voice seemed to come right through the speaker and sing to her. She fell through time and she was slow dancing, her hands on Brian's shoulders. He was so young then. It was Prom, and he'd shaved and put on the carnation to match her corsage. Amanda could see it like it was happening right now. As Poison sang about every rose having its thorn, she was seeing her husband again, before he was sick. Before he was gone, forever, in what felt like the blink of an eye.
Though it's been a while now
I can still feel so much pain
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
but the scar, that scar remains
“Mom? Mom!”
Amanda realized she'd been driving without seeing for the last five minutes. There was static on the radio. That had been the last song.
“I guess this car doesn't really suck.” Melanie wouldn't look at her. “I love you, Mom.”
Amanda swallowed. “I love you, too. More than you'll know.”
“I found this.” Melanie held up a map. “It says here that the on-ramp is in the next ten miles.”
Amanda felt a weight lift. She could do this. “Then we're right on track. We're not lost at all. Let's go home.” Amanda looked to her daughter, and for the first time, she thought it might turn out okay after all. “You wanna hear some more Lou Bega?”
“Mom, don't push your luck.”