Finding Me Again

Facing The Music

                I finally get all my stuff settled down into my new, fantastic room; the only thing left to do is to unpack my guitar, amps, piano, and microphones, and 8-track, and to explore my new city. I choose the lesser of the two evils and go out on tours with Aunt Reesey. We spend the last week I have (before I start school) shopping and exploring London.

                We make sure to go on the London Eye, to visit Westminster Abbey, and my personal favorite- tour on a double decker bus. We sit up top on the bus, and I am simultaneously thrilled and terrified at the height of the bus. After about thirty minutes of the torture, I admit defeat and move down to the first level.

                By the end of the week, I have compiled an entire new, British wardrobe, and it’s time to face the music- literally.

“Sweetheart, it’s time.” Aunt Reese looks over at me, wearily. I nod and we make our way off the comfortable, living-room sofas and move towards the stairs leading to my room. Aunt Reese practically bounces up the stairs, but I drag behind, trying to take as much time as possible. I know I am only delaying the inevitable.

                When I reach my room, my Aunt has already started unpacking. My music, microphone, and guitar stands are set up. My guitar is in its stand, and my amp is pulled out and ready to be plugged in. Together, we pull out my keyboard and lift it up onto its legs. To the side, we set up my 8-track. In the center of it all sits a stool that turns anyway for me to play any instrument I want.

                I sit down on my bed and groan, looking at it all. I’ve been able to avoid music for the past few months. In so many ways, it felt like there was a huge hole missing in my heart, but I knew facing the music would mean writing lyrics about something nobody could understand.

“You know, when I lost my mom, I was only 17. It was difficult,” my aunt said, laying down next to me on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. “But without music, it would have been impossible. I remember feeling so buried by all the different emotions that ran through me. Everyone would say ‘Oh, I’m here if you ever need to talk’ but nobody quite got it. And that was okay- because really I wouldn’t want anyone to have to understand what it’s like to lose a parent to a drunk-driving accident- but it made it impossible to express myself. I couldn’t even function anymore because I felt so weighed down. The fact that the entire world could go on when my entire world had collapsed… it horrified me. I couldn’t find the strength to move on. But eventually, your grandpa just handed me my mom’s guitar, a notebook and a pencil, and told me to stop crying and start singing again. So I found a way. And the world didn’t stop and wait for me for a second, but it was forced to listen to my music. Before I knew it, I was moving along with the world again. And all through my life, it’s always been the one part of me that is completely my own. Nobody can influence the lyrics I sing or the tune I play.” She looks at me expectantly. I nod, and get up.

                My guitar is cold to the touch, but I immediately feel like myself again when I pick it up. Suddenly the past six months since my Dad died disappear and I am floating on the different melodies I play. I warm my fingers up, and then I quickly begin figuring out a way to play Sweater Weather acoustically. I spend the rest of the night catching up on guitar, piano, and vocals, and by the end of the night I have Sweater Weather recorded on my 8-track, and my aunt is fully pleased.