I never noticed the mandolin playing in the background of "Omaha" by the Counting Crows. It's almost a betrayal to the song altogether to not be appreciated for so many years in it's fullness. Ever rediscover a song? Ever get a chronic case of the earworm? I have both. So, in the name of all that's awesome and mandolin-y (is that a word?), I'll share this with myself, again...and with you:
The wind poured through the small, open glass window and into your dated, rustic bedroom. I sat on your wobbly futon, taking in the sweetest and most clean breath of fresh air I had experienced in years. The air in the city, back in the east where I was living at for 3 years now, was heavy and tasted funny. Back home. I had just met you in person for the first time the day before. Behind my parents' ever watchful eyes, I had booked myself a trip halfway across the country to spend 10 days with the boy I liked and his friends. They had almost canceled my trip, and locked me up in my attic bedroom the rest of my adult life...but that was just it. I was an adult...and here I was, late March, in a guy's bedroom in my long Pepe Le Pew pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. Hair disheveled, but just staring out the window at the trees swaying in the morning wind while you tinkered with your computer trying to find music for us to listen to.
And there it was, in all it's glory, filling the tiny room with music of youth and freedom. Two people from completely different cultures and backgrounds smiling at each other as the perfect song came on. Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Dosed" started playing and I felt this sense of peace and belonging filled me. The images of our drive home from the airport the day before flooded me and made me smile big at you. You left the song on replay and crawled carefully back on the unstable futon, sneaking a kiss on my neck. You laid with your head on my lap, staring up at me through your thick, dark lashes. I traced your nose and lips, getting tiny flashes of the rock formations on the desert...of the old town across the border where I kept waiting for our first kiss that never came...of the first kiss that did eventually come, when I least expected it, as you filled up the tank on your Malibu in some dusty gas station forgotten by civilization. The rest of the week I was with you, every drove we took or place we went, Dosed would sneak up on the playlist or some other song from that specific RHCP cd...
I returned to my gray city, with snow and dirty air, a week later. I cried the whole plane ride back, and ate all the cookies you grandmother packed for my trip back home to bring to my parents. Heh. Back to reality. Dosed was your song. Our song. How can a song that brings such joy with someone, somewhere...can bring such sad feelings of longing and loneliness when you're by yourself? I'd be driving in rural Pennsylvania, and as soon as the tune would come up, the snow turned to sand...the mountains to desert rock formations...trees to cactus...my car into your light blue bedroom, with the wild mustang paperwall border and the rickety futon. Your eyes. Your smile. Your smell. The guy I would marry someday.
Life changes...music will help us keep those moments. It wasn't all bad. I got dosed by you.
The wind poured through the small, open glass window and into your dated, rustic bedroom. I sat on your wobbly futon, taking in the sweetest and most clean breath of fresh air I had experienced in years. The air in the city, back in the east where I was living at for 3 years now, was heavy and tasted funny. Back home. I had just met you in person for the first time the day before. Behind my parents' ever watchful eyes, I had booked myself a trip halfway across the country to spend 10 days with the boy I liked and his friends. They had almost canceled my trip, and locked me up in my attic bedroom the rest of my adult life...but that was just it. I was an adult...and here I was, late March, in a guy's bedroom in my long Pepe Le Pew pajama pants and oversized t-shirt. Hair disheveled, but just staring out the window at the trees swaying in the morning wind while you tinkered with your computer trying to find music for us to listen to.
And there it was, in all it's glory, filling the tiny room with music of youth and freedom. Two people from completely different cultures and backgrounds smiling at each other as the perfect song came on. Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Dosed" started playing and I felt this sense of peace and belonging filled me. The images of our drive home from the airport the day before flooded me and made me smile big at you. You left the song on replay and crawled carefully back on the unstable futon, sneaking a kiss on my neck. You laid with your head on my lap, staring up at me through your thick, dark lashes. I traced your nose and lips, getting tiny flashes of the rock formations on the desert...of the old town across the border where I kept waiting for our first kiss that never came...of the first kiss that did eventually come, when I least expected it, as you filled up the tank on your Malibu in some dusty gas station forgotten by civilization. The rest of the week I was with you, every drove we took or place we went, Dosed would sneak up on the playlist or some other song from that specific RHCP cd...
I returned to my gray city, with snow and dirty air, a week later. I cried the whole plane ride back, and ate all the cookies you grandmother packed for my trip back home to bring to my parents. Heh. Back to reality. Dosed was your song. Our song. How can a song that brings such joy with someone, somewhere...can bring such sad feelings of longing and loneliness when you're by yourself? I'd be driving in rural Pennsylvania, and as soon as the tune would come up, the snow turned to sand...the mountains to desert rock formations...trees to cactus...my car into your light blue bedroom, with the wild mustang paperwall border and the rickety futon. Your eyes. Your smile. Your smell. The guy I would marry someday.
Life changes...music will help us keep those moments. It wasn't all bad. I got dosed by you.
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