For the eighth grade winter formal my mother made me a green velvet and taffeta knee length a-line dress. My frizzy brown curls were pulled back so onlookers could see the full glory of my sparkly eye shadow. Tan pantyhose and black patent leather shoes completed the look. It was one of the few times in my adolescent years I remember feeling beautiful. Though I was certain no one else attending would feel the same.
We had "social mixers" twice a year in middle school. So, by this, my fifth school dance, I knew what to expect...
I would enter the dimly lit poorly decorated cafeteria with nine of my best girlfriends and scream hysterically when "The Sign" came over the speakers. We'd dance in a circle of sweat and estrogen twirling each other around the floor. Together we would take frequent bathroom breaks to deal with the crisis of the moment - supporting each other through the dark and seemingly endless tunnel that is middle school (dances). All-4-One would start to croon a cheesy romantic tune and my eyes would quickly scan the room for any signs of interest. Realizing rejection was imminent I would feign some physical malady - a run in the hose, an eyelash in the eye, a twisted ankle, an unexpected menstrual flow, etc. and escort myself away from disappointment. I would quietly wait out my humiliation in the bathroom or hallway or once in the vending machine room behind the Fruitopia machine until fast paced pop music deflated the room of anxiety. I would end the night with my arms on my best friend's shoulders gleefully yelling "woo woo" on cue as we marched around the room to "C'mon N' Ride It (The Train)".
Four previous middle school dances had proven this routine true. As the eighth grade winter formal was coming to a close it didn't seem like there were going to be any surprises.
Until...
Mazzy Star.
A boy with a buzz cut in a lose-fitting white button down shirt and black cargo pants slowly made his way across the crowded room and asked the fat girl in the homemade dress to join him for her first ever slow dance. With my hands on his shoulders and his hands just barely touching my hips we swayed to the raspy haunting lyrics of "Fade Into You".
Twenty years later, while making a music playlist for a romantic weekend in the Arkansas hills, my partner and love, Rebecca, suggested we add "Fade Into You" to the list. Like a child on a school bus in Greenbow, Alabama I simply responded, "Can't. Song's taken."
The rich memory of slow dancing in the gentle embrace of a real live boy on that cold December night was so compelling and expansive that it filled every single beautiful second of "Fade Into You". The song no longer has any room for memories. It's taken.
A first dance, a perfect date, a stolen kiss, a star-filled summer night drive, a romantic encounter with your lover in the kitchen- there is magic in these moments. Still they are just that, moments, and by definition do not last very long. But set a moment to music and it can last forever.
Whether you want it to or not.
I fell in love with Corey the moment I saw him. Whenever he walked into a room it felt like it was happening in slow motion. His dark shiny hair would bounce gently with each new step while the cool motion of his black corduroy pants mimicked the sound of ocean waves - exotic waves, sexy waves, exotic sexy waves from some place I'd never been but desperately wanted to go.
We became fast friends, spending most of our teenage nights messaging on AOL or talking on the phone. I waited months and months for him to get a clue. Months of dancing with my bedpost and pretending it was him. Months of crying into my diary over the new girl he liked. Months of enduring horrible movies like Speed 2 and Event Horizon.
One innocent afternoon I convinced Corey to accompany me to Titanic - James Cameron's epic three hour tale of a smoking hot Irish boy with floppy brown hair and a sassy privileged red-head with exposed nipples. There was some kind of historic event in there somewhere too. But the death and destruction of thousands along with the sinking of the famous ship was nothing compared to the horrifying moment Rose let go of Jack's hand.
I cried.
Hysterically.
My shirt was wet with tears.
I had trouble breathing.
Corey just turned and stared at me with a look of complete panic.
As we walked out of the theatre Corey was still confused and frightened by my extreme display of emotion. He threw his arms around me and said, "I didn't know what to do. You were losing it and all I could do was sit there. I wish I could have done something to make you feel better."
Feeling immediately better I wiped my tears, smiled and said, "Oh yeah? Like what?"
Moments later we were boyfriend and girlfriend, because that's how it works when you are fourteen.
We revisited the film a few days later so Corey could have his chance at comforting me. Except, since it was my third viewing in under a month, I just fell asleep. But I fell asleep in the arms of the man I loved. It was a magical moment. As the credits rolled he woke me from my slumber. Celine Dion belted out "My Heart Will Go On" as we waited in line to exit the theatre. Corey turned to me and said, "Hey. I think this should be our song."
Our song. Like, our love song.
Everywhere we went - there was our song. Riding in the back of my mother's mini van it played while we held hands. Walking around the mall we could hear the tune playing in multiple stores. It was used in all the television ads for the movie along with ads for movie merchandise like replica giant blue sapphire hearts. Delilah would play the song at least four times on her nightly radio show. Each time we heard the beautiful melody it affirmed our love.
Then, four weeks later, like the famous and wondrous ship, our love sank. It sank deep into the dark depths of the ocean never to see sunlight ever again.
Though, there was one remnant of our love - our song.
It was like a failed relationship haunted house. Every time I turned a corner I would hear the frightening Celine Dion howl "My Heart Will Go On". Walking innocently at the mall with friends the melody would play and I would drop to my knees and cover my ears. At the doctor's office the sharp sounds of "My Heart Will Go On" muzak could be heard along with the crying of children getting pricked with a needle. Ana Gasteyer mocked my pain and heartache with every dramatic beat of her chest as she parodied the song on Saturday Night Live. Listening to the radio was particularly terrifying. I lived in constant fear of hearing the torturous sound of flutes. As my mother would turn the dial I would wait in panic praying to God to end the evil reign of Celine Dion. When I least expected it she would appear and for four minutes and forty seconds I was forced to relive to agony of losing my first love.
Our love had ended, but our song went on and on and on and on and on.
For a long time I was taken, held captive, by the music of my former love. Slowly, I had to crawl back to sanity away from Celine Dion and her dastardly song. It wasn't until many years later that I was able to stand and look Ms. Dion square in the eyes and scream out "You have no power over me!" just as another Sarah had to do with her musical nemesis.
It was then I took control of my destiny and started using Napster (Evil music stealing, I know). No longer would I rely on the radio man to select the perfect song to capture my moment. Though I knew I was not in complete control of my musical memories, it was too risky to leave it all to fate. That's how we ended up with Celine in the first place. I wanted the soundtrack of my life to have at least a few good hits. So, I created playlists. Playlists for romantic moments. Playlists for parties. Playlists for long summer drives in the country. Playlists for everything.
And I've never stopped.
In my life there have been hundreds of songs taken by moments. Songs that are bursting with memories. Some I had a hand in. Others were simply fate. I can't hear "In the Air Tonight" without thinking about the time me and my best friends drove the convertible in the rain with the top down. "I Will Remember You" takes me back to the last time I saw Daniel Schwartz. "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" is filled with the memory of my brother and I rocking the face off some karaoke during a New England cruise. Though I'm a firm lover of all things Gaga "Bad Romance" memories make me want to hit a special someone in the face. "Wagon Wheel" immediately transports me back to country roads and the comfort of my two best friends. I hear "Fuck You" and smile about an epic four hour driveway make-out session. "Fantasy" is the song that was playing when I knew I had met the love of my life. "Orphan Girl" and "Pure Imagination" are the songs that comfort my children as they drift off to sleep at night. My heart bursts with joy every time I hear "Sugartime" and remember my Nana's never-ending silliness. But when I hear "You Raise Me Up" I often turn away not wanting to remember the awful day she died.
I have a musical diary.
And though there are still songs that cut me deep and drop me to my knees they are quickly followed by an upbeat tune. Actually, they are mostly upbeat tunes. Because my life has mostly been magical.
This is a small sample of The Songs Taken. I'm sharing via Spotify since Napster, LimeWire and Kazaa are no more.
