Joelle
When I thought of music, my mind immediately conjured up an image of Michael Mason. He started my obsession, back when I was only eight years old. For me, a schoolgirl crush was quite obvious during those early years: he was twelve and had the eyes the color of the sky right before a storm and hair the color of honey. His dad and my adopted dad were the best of friends, and as we were growing up, his mother and my adopted mother spoke of the two options Michael and I had: either we would absolutely despise each other's existence or we would be the best of friends. I'm sure they hoped it'd be the latter and they probably discussed the hopeful marriage often.
Yet, to their surprise, neither happened. We settled for a 'see each other on occasion and he teases me for being younger' type of relationship. Being an eight year old, I developed the hugest crush possible on him. It wasn't exactly a surprise, though, because after all, twelve year olds were the oldest and coolest people in my eyes.
The thought of him would always be accompanied with him in a black snapback and headphones in - his head bobbing to a song with a very consistent bass beat. Music had never really affected me until he forced me to actually 'listen' to a song and close my eyes. It was one of those moments where none of his friends were around, so he didn't get embarrassed being with me. "Close your eyes. Focus on how the instruments melt together and how the lyrics convey the singer's emotions," he told me. I, of course, did as he said.
Then there was a moment of realization. Somewhere in my little girl brain, I registered how incredible music truly was. Even now I would look back and wish I had been able to bottle that moment and relive it whenever I so choose, because it was a moment that was unforgettable.
Michael passed away six short years later at the young age of eighteen. Cancer was a right pain in the arse for taking away such an incredible guy. A part of me knew I would forever be in debt to him, to that twelve year old kid who was too cool to be seen with me in public, yet would always help me when I needed it (so long as none of his peers were around). He was the kid who helped shape who I became.
I grew up in a simple house with my adopted family. When I tell people that I'm adopted, it's never to get attention or to reel in sympathy. They were my family. I never felt different or unwanted. We'd get strange looks every once in a while, especially when I was younger. A girl with unruly brown hair and the greenest of eyes, in a family that had all black hair and brown eyes. It didn't matter to us though, because the outside wasn't what mattered. Had anyone asked me, I was just as apart of their family as the other kids. My brother was the best things to ever happen to me - Blake was older by four years and had been Michael's best friend. He had jet-black hair that as of late he decided was best styled as short and slightly choppy. His eyes were dark brown, on the edge of black. Chiseled jawline, tan skin, short nose, high cheekbones - he was definitely a lady's man. My two sisters, they happened to be twins, were adorable, young, and clueless. They managed to brighten up my days, because they were five years younger and they took it upon themselves to mimic my every move.
As time went by, the more I fell in love with music. It took up so much of my life, that I almost always had an earbud in my ear with a song playing in the background. My foot was always tapping to a beat and my lips always forming lyrics. But to be fair, I was not a singer and for the life of me, I could not play an instrument. Music just seemed like it was a part of me. I loved to write songs, but I was never able to put them to sound.
