Oh, that music store! Plenty of second-hand LPs, I have never seen anything like that but this is America, a lively university town and lots of free time. It’s 1999, I have a whole life in front of me, hopes about the future and turns out I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself and integrating everywhere and adapting to any routine or environment. I’m walking out of the shop with a vinyl under my arm, a very good record that only costed pennies.
Guitars gather speed and weave a wall of sound I can safely climb. I stop for a moment to look down to all the abusive people I’ve turned my back to in past years. Violence doesn’t need to be physical: it can be subtle, his devious womanish mind knew how to turn the story around to your advantage. Whatever he did, he was always innocent. But I finally saw him grin secretly, I saw things clearer once you were in my rearview mirror. I had idealized him, but not enough to lose my clarity of thought and not see it was time to walk away. It took some time, but finally the shades are raised.
I always end up listening to this song whenever a major change in my life occurs. Now I let the music play, although it’s not one of those moments – or, is it? Could it be the wind of change, this breeze I’m feeling? Yes, the leaves are swinging on the trees outside the window. Or, is it the chilly wind from many years ago as I go home from that house, pissed off because I had to walk all the way back on my own in the snow?
Written in response to Writing 101, Day Three: Commit to a Writing Practice