1.15.2014 Journal Prompt

January 15, 2014: It was more than just music.

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One thought on “1.15.2014 Journal Prompt

  1. Lindsay

    It’s more than just music. When I put their records on the turntable and I turn the volume up loud, so loud I can’t hear myself think, it’s like they are in the room with me. I lean my head against the wall and I can feel the music shaking everything. And I can’t help tapping my foot and singing along even where I do not really know the words.

    My da says it is just so much noise and he says they look like girls with their long hair and he says it is not natural and not of god. I laugh when he says that.

    In church there’s a picture on one wall of Christ raising Lazarus and every Sunday for fourteen years I have studied the detail of that painted Christ, looking for something in the figure to make sense of everything, and the organ shredding the air with blown sharps and flats and sometimes notes slipping through Mr Court’s fingers like water when it is held in the cup of a child’s hand.

    In the picture, Christ wears a long sash-belted white dress like a girl, and his hair is long like a girl’s too and his skin soft and perfect. He looks a little like Mary-Ann, only his hair’s yellow and hers is red, and Mary-Ann’s the second prettiest girl in school.

    So, my da saying the music I’m listening to is just noise, and that the young men playing their guitars look like girls, well, I just laugh.

    Church songs are always about prayer and believing and honouring. I don’t really get it. I sing the words and I put my heart into it, but the meaning of it all is lost on me. It’s different with the music belting out from the speakers in my room. Those yearning songs are about girls and love and not being alone. That means something.

    I cut their pictures out of magazines, those young men with long hair, and I pin those pictures to the walls of my room; and I am growing my own hair so I am like them; and I dress like them, too. Da thinks I am not right in the head. He worries that I am become an abomination, which is his way of saying that I bear the love that dares not speak its name, the love of one man for another man.

    It’s just music and it’s more than music. It’s the turning of our backs on all that has been before. It’s standing up and saying we are who we are. It’s everything.

    There’s this boy in my class and his name’s Paul, and he came round once and I put a record on and he got it, you know. He was tapping his foot the same as I was and mouthing the words to the songs. And for a moment I wasn’t sure. He was pretty like the Christ figure in the church painting and his yellow hair was longer than my da’s and he kissed me. And I really wasn’t sure.

    Me and Mary-Ann, we are sort of going steady these days, and she lets me do stuff, and I think maybe I love her and maybe we’ll be married one day. I haven’t told her about kissing Paul or that I still think about it sometimes when I am listening to music with the volume turned up so loud that my thoughts can’t be heard.

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