I stood on the stairs leading to the apartment. The song was still playing through my earphones and I knew that once I go through the door it would be another world. The music would stop.
Maybe I could just stand here and listen till it's done, I thought. Maybe I could play it on the home speakers once I get in. No. I can’t.
Now I'm thinking about it, and can't enjoy it. I pause the music and reach for my keys.
No, she says she hates music. Who the fuck hates music?!
I always had a pair of earphones in my ears. Since I was eleven. An uninterrupted soundtrack that was accompanying my life, whenever I could get away with it that is.
At the very beginning all we had were headphones. Bulky, clunky, headphones with a metal connector and flat over ear foam covers.
I remember how it felt when I got my first earphones though. They came with a black Sony Walkman. My ears were way too small for those plastic earbuds, and the foam covers added more bulk and friction. But when I could get them just right, they drowned out the noise. I was alone with the music.
My first Walkman — well, a nameless portable cassette player, it wasn’t a Sony — was my older sister’s. I took it with me to school, without her permission. After a couple of days it was confiscated. By someone at school that is. Fascists. Yes, I was eleven, but it’s not like I was listening in class (That wouldn’t come until high school). On the school bus, and during recess. But they still took it away. It was off-white, had only three buttons (for some reason the technology to rewind seemed more challenging than that to fast-forward), and the door was held shut by two rubber bands. But it was mine (my sister’s), and I loved it. They took it.
The fascism didn’t come as a shock. At age six I came to school with a pair of canary yellow plastic wayfarer style sunglasses with mirrored multicolored lenses with the word Star written across both of them in graffiti style script. It’s difficult to describe, but it was back in 1990, and they were cool. Extra cool for a six-year-old. I think I pulled them off. I’m pretty sure I pulled them off. I remember them so vividly. I loved that yellow. Maybe that explains my lifelong affinity to yellow.
Again, they were my sister’s. And again, I took them without her permission. Pretty ballsy move for a six-year-old. So, I took them to school. And on the first day, an agent of fascism called Madame Badee3a confiscated them. I was wearing them during recess. Fuck her and her fucking tan stockings. They went up a few inches below her knees and seemed too tight. She probably had varicose veins. Good! I hope they hurt. I would imagine she’s dead by now. I think the world is a better place.
She never gave them back. I don’t remember if I confessed to my sister. I probably didn’t.
They gave the cassette player back though.
She used to like music. She used to LOVE music. We fucking bonded over music. We might not have become friends (two decades ago now) if it weren’t for music. I judged people based on shoes, and taste in music. She had great taste in both.
By the time I reached high school, I had progressed through a couple more Walkmans, a Sony Sports Walkman (oh that sweet yellow), a bulky Discman, a round cooler Discman. And finally a super thin silver metal Panasonic CD player that was so thin that it had it’s own flat removable rechargeable batteries. It was too thin for even AAA batteries. I loved that thing. It was a SL-CT 780. Google it.
She had many CDs. And she had a cool CD player as well. A Panasonic Shockwave. Rugged silver metal and blue plastic highlights, seemingly indestructible. With weird looking headphones that hung around your neck with a vibrating part on the back of the neck that vibrated with bass. Panasonic were the shit back then.
I judged people based on their technology. She had great technology.
She lent it to me. For a couple of months. If that’s not a sign of teenage love, I don’t know what is.
As I progressed through the tiers of technology, and the genres of music, it became more necessary to keep it playing at all times.
I used to listen during recess and on the school bus. Now I listen in class. Thank god for hoodies. If I didn’t have a hoodie on, I would pull the earphones through my sleeve and put a hand on my ear as if I’m resting my head. Music in one ear beats no music.
By then I had started playing guitar. Now I could play the fucking soundtrack. Holy shit.
How can she possibly hate music? People who hate music don’t get cool state-of-the-art Panasonic CD players.
Maybe lending to me was a sign that she wasn’t serious about her music playback devices?
She sang with me though. I’d play guitar and we’d sing together.
She’s a hell of a singer. Can you hate music and be that good a singer?
I always had a pair of earphones in my ears. Through college, every single day. MP3 player by Creative. First iPOD. A Nano (I even got her an iPod Shuffle on my first trip back home from college). And then iPod Touch after graduation, with my investment banking sign-on bonus. Then iPhones took care of that from then on.
I had a pair of earphones in my ears all the time.
We got married. Played guitar and sang at the wedding. Ended with an hour of Karaoke with friends. The soundtrack continues. Now we’re united forever and it’s time for our sountrack. On the first day of our honeymoon, we were exploring the streets of Barcelona. I put one earphone in my left ear and gave her the other to put in her right. She didn’t want it.
I’ll keep one in my ear though. Just like high school. Let’s keep walking.
She lets me do that for a while. We had an argument about it. She said it was ridiculous. To put it away. I refused.
Of course it was ridiculous. But she was taking away my music. After an hour of lovely but awkward strolling, I stopped enjoying the soundtrack. I took the earphone out. She unplugged the soundtrack.
She Madame Badee3a’ed my music.
Now she says she hates music.
Who the FUCK hates music?!
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