It’s the boy I make out with in the dark corner of the party when no one is looking.

My friends and I often have really lame conversations about what we think we could live without. A left hand. A kidney. Eyesight. Hearing.

I don’t know what I would do if I went deaf. I can’t imagine not hearing the opening chords to Welcome to the Jungle, Kashmir, Nine in the Afternoon, Hum Hallelujah¹. I can’t imagine not being able to hear the music I love, be introduced to a new heart that I can’t imagine living without, not having that connection to my secret soul that only music can give a voice to.

Music is the way I say I love you. It’s the way I break my heart day by day. It’s what gets me from moment to moment, and is a time machine into my memories, each song dredging up an image or ten that compete for attention while I lose myself in the way the base thumps in time to my heart.

I bought a new album this month—not just a bunch of random songs as usual—and as I listened to it for the first time, I remembered what I was missing. As I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, letting Fast Times at Barrington High by The Academy Is… wash over me, through me

(But you weren’t there to hear it
These lines, so well rehearsed
Tongue tied and over-loaded
You’ll never notice

I’m not in love
This is not my heart
I’m not gonna waste these words
About a girl

I’m not in love
This is not your song
I’m not gonna waste these words
About a girl) —About a Girl

I remembered what I had forgotten. I don’t give a shit about anyone else’s opinion in music.

I am an emo girl. But I’m also all about the power ballads, the pop songs, the one-hit-wonders, the catchy tune that makes no sense but you can’t help but tap your toes to. I will listen to anything. And I couldn’t care less what anyone else thinks about it.

I am pretty sure that my soul is made of music. That the most important moments of my life will always have a sound track. That music is more intimate to me than my fiction, than my poetry, than my own words written out.

Last week, E and I were watching a movie in my room, and when it ended, it was too quiet. We were just laying there, and I picked up the remote to start playing music on my laptop. As I flicked through the playlists, my first thought was “he’s not going to like any of these, and I don’t really want to dig down to find albums that I know he likes.” And then he told me to just put on whatever.

Every month, I make a playlist of how I feel for the month. Thus it’s taken me an entire month to mush together a playlist for September. I’m continually adding and removing songs, trying to find the ones that fit together, that paint a snapshot of me in this month. And not even thinking about it, I play for E September’s unfinished playlist. The one that is all about not opening your heart any wider than it already is for fear of it getting stomped on, but still you have to open it up.

These songs are about love and heartbreak, about refusing to see what’s right in front of your face. These songs are what make up my soul this month, and it’s not something I usually share with anyone.

As the Hush Sound began to play, I wondered if he’d pay enough attention, if he’d realize what all these songs are saying, what they mean to me. And then I realized, I’m not ready for him to know that yet.

But there will always be another playlist, another month to fill my soul with music that means more to me than anyone else, a secret that I’ll play to myself over and over. And one day, I’ll let someone else in on the secret.

But don’t make fun of my music. I’ll cut you for that.

1. Guns ‘n’ Roses, Led Zepplin, Panic at the Disco, Fall Out Boy, in case you were wondering. [back]

Tagged: on Monday, September 29, 2008 · 3 Comments »