Backlogged Dreams [h.s]

three

Majorie Truman

June 25, 1964

The Montego Bay airport was much hotter than the Nashville airport. I was lucky that I tended to be cold rather than always burning up, like the rest of my family.

The surrounding families, obviously here on vacation, complained loudly about the heat and their own sweat. I rolled my eyes while I listened to their conversations and plans for the week. I exchanged smiles with another young girl as I finished putting my hair into two braids to get the fresh air on the back of my neck, mentally repeating my instructions for when I landed.

Grab your bags and wait outside for Sarah Jones, who will be in a light green car.

Sarah Jones, I soon learned, was the drummer we would be working with on the album and possible tour. She, same as Harry, was from Britain and is traveling where her opportunities are taking her. Same as me.

With that in mind and my bags and instruments on a cart for me to push around, I made my way to the doors, all the while humming a melody I've come up with on the plane ride here. Once I was outside, happily in the sunshine sitting on the cart holding my bags, I pulled my song notebook out. I had it out for most of the flight here, reading through some of the songs I wrote when I was younger and jotting down some more ideas for Harry's album. I even got bored and doodled on one of the pages—some cherries and a sunflower that looks more like a carnation.

I turned the book back to the song I've now given a name, 'Never Grow Up,' and sighed. For the life of me, I didn't know how to continue the song, let alone start out the song. I tapped the eraser end of my pencil on the notebook, hoping that inspiration or ideas would surface.

"I found that when writing, it's best to let the words flow from your head to the page," I jumped slightly at the sudden interruption, turning to look for the source of the advice given to me. The kind-looking older man, whom I recognized as the man I sat next to on the flight, who stood next to me laughed, holding his hand to his chest. "Sorry, I didn't mean to spook. Got too into my own head there."

"Oh, well," I spoke up after shaking off my nerves, "that's on me for not being aware of my surroundings, so that makes two of us."

There was a moment of silence, one I tried to fill with a quick laugh, but ultimately failed.

"Your songwriting, what I peaked of it on the plane, is wonderful, miss," He smiled at me and scanned the cars in front of the airport. "No need to think too much, you've got too much talent for getting in your head like that. Good luck."

And with that, he walked off, leaving me in absolute wonder.

Flow from your head to the page, I could do that.

This song, ideally, was going to be about the denial and reality of growing up and leaving home. I've always done my best writing songs from personal experience, so writing about what I've been feeling for the whole day should just... flow.

"Take photographs in your mind of your childhood room"

No, not photographs... pictures.

"Memorize what it sounded like when your dad gets home

Remember the footsteps, remember the words said

And all your little brother's favorite songs

I just realized that everything I have is someday gonna be gone"

I shook my head at the new realization, pushing the thought to the back of my mind when I heard a car horn.