How A Song Unraveled Twenty Years of Therapy
On this day, I was no match for the magical 3:09 minutes of this 80’s hit.
Emotions are a funny thing. I’m long past trying to understand why random memories can evoke deep soul-churning feelings one day, and not even cause an extra thought on another day. I suppose the circumstances have to be just right. And I guess they were for me a little while ago.
I haven’t been with my ex-husband for almost twenty-four years. We aren’t friends. We haven’t stayed in touch. As a matter of fact, when I left him I had to hide myself and our daughter for our safety. We hid for six months. I’ll admit that I had come to understand my compassion was my curse when it came to him, and while I was hiding us to keep us safe, I was also hiding to gain some strength in the distance. I guess in many ways his good behavior was my kryptonite.
I would not describe our relationship as beautiful. As a matter of fact, I would much more quickly say it was volatile and scary, and yet somehow I found myself in my car overcome with emotion earlier today…and it was the emotion of missing something long passed. I would almost say it felt like a longing…but longing for what exactly, I don’t know. I just know this memory was palpable. It had flavor and thick scent.
The song “Think I’m in Love” by Eddie Money came on my playlist. Now, to be certain, this song is a favorite and it’s on a few of my personal playlists, but this time I was shuffling through some random 80’s list created by another Spotify user. I wasn’t expecting it. But even so, it’s never affected me like this.
Today, those opening notes hit me like a sticky nostalgia… clinging to me like the scent of summer that lingers long after a day at the beach. It was familiar. I remember that feeling. No, I know that feeling.
I was back in the bar. We were playing billiards with friends… the friends we were always with. Our crew. We had our beer bottles and our cigarettes, and Eddie Money on the Jukebox. I knew what would come next, too: “Tonight She Comes” by the Cars and “Gypsy” by Stevie Nicks. Always.
I can see him so clearly. His young, beautiful, chiseled face and long hair. His lean, muscular body. That body made me feel so safe sometimes. I know other girls wanted him, but those nights were good nights, and on those nights he was mine. The girls knew he wasn’t available.
I can smell his cologne. Fahrenheit. I’d bury myself against him and try to inhale all of it.
He’s animated and in a good mood. Probably singing and being the tiniest bit obnoxious. I can’t tell if I’m smiling because I’m actually enjoying the moment, or just trying to appear that I am while I worry inwardly that this can all change on a dime. Most nights like these, though, were good.
I can remember the excitement of leaving the bar and getting on his bike to go home. The warm summer air on our skin. I loved being on the back of that bike. I wish those moments could have lasted forever.
Our bedroom was cool because of an air conditioner. I loved the sound of it. It relaxed me.
We’d make love and get sweaty and then sleep all twisted up in the sheets and in each other. Sometimes we’d stay awake and talk all night and there would be no thought of things ever being bad again. The alternate universe in which our relationship was shallow and demeaning and abusive did not exist. How could it?
This was love. This was a deep, cellular connection. He loved me. And I would have said I loved him, but really I don’t know exactly what it was.
It was definitely something to have me crying in my car over Eddie Money.
