For as far back as I can remember, the music has always been there. It’s like a movie soundtrack inside my head that never stops playing. I’m not exactly sure why it’s there, but all these notes and rhythms weave their way into my dreams and keep me company while I’m in the operating room, eating lunch or playing with the kids. Sometimes the music is low and in the background, while other times it becomes louder and more melodic. Occasionally, I hear words as well. Over time, I learned that the only way to control the music in my head was to somehow play it. It’s not surprising that I decided to take up a musical instrument.
I started with the clarinet in the 4th grade, but eventually grew frustrated with playing single notes and marching up and down Main Street, so I turned to the piano. On the piano’s keyboard, I could play any combination of notes to produce all the complex and colorful sounds that I needed. All throughout high school, I studied the sheet music for classical and popular songs and taught myself how to play them. But my mind would always wander and I would end up changing the music in some crazy way. Eventually, I just started writing my own songs, and that process has continued to this very day. Creating music and lyrics at the piano can be a deeply frustrating task. The chords and melodies both haunt me and heal me at the same time. But in College, I discovered that this skill had another very important function ...
The year was 1987. I was a sophomore in College. A couple of my friends had just joined a fraternity, so I dropped by one of their parties to see the house. The fraternity house was a 100 year old stone structure with large, sweeping spaces that made it seem more like a castle. After getting the royal tour and meeting all the brothers, I poured myself a beer from the keg and headed out to the dance floor. “The One I Love”, by R.E.M., was blaring from the speakers. The windows were open and the cool breeze from outside became laced with the smell of perfume, sweat and musty wood. I saw a girl that I knew from class who I really wanted to dance with. She smiled and waved at me, but she was dancing with one of the brothers. Feeling a little sorry for myself, I retreated to the next room, refilled my beer and started thinking about the midterm I should have been studying for. That’s when I saw it in the corner of the room.
It was covered with a heavy canvas and seemed to be as lonely as I was feeling at that moment. I uncovered it, pulled out the bench, sat down and lifted up the lid. I pressed down on one of the worn, ivory keys and the action was smooth. I had to strain to hear, but the tones were deep and rich. Both of my hands settled in and I began to play a ballad that I had been working on. I could barely hear it above the party noise, but I knew my fingers were doing the right thing. All of a sudden, the girl from before came over and smiled. “What are you playing?” I smiled back and tried to answer her while continuing to play, “It doesn’t have a name yet!” I’m not sure if she heard me, but she sat down next to me and said, “I love it!” Captivated by her pretty face and confused by what was unfolding, I began to lose my focus. My hands were now playing something completely foreign to me, but she did not seem to notice at all. All of a sudden, another girl came over and leaned on the piano, then another, and another.
Soon, I had a crowd of women all standing around the piano. By this time, I had no idea whatsoever what I was playing. I couldn’t hear anything, but neither could they. They kept drinking and requesting different songs. Some tunes I knew, but most of them I had no idea how to play. So I kept on playing the same improvisational nonsense and they kept on laughing and giving me complements. I stared at one girl in disbelief when she actually began singing along with my random, never-ending song. A couple of girls stuffed dollar bills into a glass on the piano, and that is when I knew that I had officially entered “The Twilight Zone”. My fingers were starting to cramp up, but every time I stopped, the girls would protest and encourage me to play on. The fraternity brothers were standing by the side with a mixture of anger and disbelief on their faces. I gave them a sheepish smile and shrugged my shoulders as I launched into the next verse of ... well, whatever you call it.
You might be surprised at this, but I walked home all alone that night. It seemed that when I finally stopped playing, the spell was broken. Most of the women whom I had entertained earlier had either staggered on to the next party or had passed out on one of the couches in the fraternity house. In the following year, I went to many parties at that house, and it became something of a legend that, late into the night, I would sit down at the piano and serenade anyone who needed their spirits lifted. As I passed over the bridge leading back to my dorm, I heard the rush of water from the gorge below. This soon gave way to the silence of the night. I paused for a moment, confused by this silence. Then the music in my head began once again. I smiled and continued my walk home.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Summergirl
I drove down the dirt road that took me to the rear entrance of the camp. The worn tires of my ’71 Chevy Nova crackled as they rolled over gravel in the staff parking lot and came to a stop with a cloud of dust. I grabbed the backpack on the front seat, my orange juice and half-eaten cream cheese bagel and headed inside to the lifeguard station. The morning sun was low in the sky. There was moisture on the grass, but the air was hot and dry. Inside, the Lieutenant was checking his clipboard, but he stopped to look up at me. “Late night?” he asked. I smiled and nodded as I shoved my clothes into the locker. He returned the smile and added, “You got beginners today”. Standing by my locker, I covered my nose with zinc oxide and took one more bite of my bagel. The sunscreen on my shoulders began to burn, which reminded me that I didn’t put enough on the day before. I hid my bloodshot eyes behind dark sunglasses, grabbed my whistle and headed out to the pool deck.
When I was in school I worked during each of my summers. Besides a very brief stint as a supermarket cashier and one as a painter’s apprentice in the Hamptons, I spent all my summers since high school as a lifeguard and swim instructor on Long Island. This was the summer after my first year of medical school and the last of my “free” summers. I had endured Gross Anatomy, but nothing I learned in that class could help me as I approached my class of 6 and 7 year-olds. About a dozen of them huddled together for safety, clutching their towels like they were life-preservers. I gave them a big smile and dove into the pool. Emerging from the peace and quiet of my underwater sanctuary, I blew the water out of my whistle and said, “OK, who’s coming in with me?”
I was working with each of them on their back float, supporting them under the water with one hand and encouraging them to arch their backs. Then, something caught my attention across the pool. Out of the hazy, morning sun, she appeared. Her wavy, brown hair with reddish highlights bounced as she moved. On her wrists, she wore multiple, hand-made bracelets. She smiled and laughed with the freedom of a warm breeze and her face glowed with the radiance of the sun. I was immediately intrigued by this Summergirl, but a splash of water and the sting of a small hand smacking by sunburned chest broke me out of the moment. “How was that, Mister?” “Good, Jimmy”, I encouraged. “Let’s try it again.” I looked up once again, but she was no longer there.
That was a summer I will never forget. During the day, I would walk around the camp and find Summergirl making friendship bracelets or eating lunch with her group. I’d catch her eye and smile, pretending that the encounter was just an accident. My heart would always beat faster when she returned the smile. Those were magical, innocent times, when my entire paycheck would go towards rides and funnel cakes at St. Rocco’s. There seemed to be a different party every night with friends from work or high school. The cool air was always filled with music and felt good against my warm, tanned skin. We would dance for hours while sipping from large cups filled with Coke and Malibu Rum. I feasted on frozen yogurt and scrambled eggs from the diner at midnight. Days off were usually spent at the beach and my hair was as blonde as ever. I spend a lot of time with Summergirl. She was so full of life and energy, and I just wanted to be a part of that. We talked and laughed and flirted with each other. Life was so simple and easy for us then, and I convinced myself that those days could last forever.
But soon, the days began to grow shorter and Labor Day was quickly approaching. I was starting to prepare for the tough school year ahead of me. I kept looking for Summergirl, but it was becoming harder to find her. One night, as I was standing at the waterline overlooking the Harbor, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned quickly and she was there. I was so excited to see Summergirl once again. Our eyes met instantly, but for the first time, I saw a trace of sadness in her smile. I held her in my arms and kissed her soft lips, but just like the sand, she slipped through my hands and faded away right in front of my eyes. Deep down, I knew that this was the price I had to pay for getting so close to an angel.
These days, summer is kind of like winter, only hotter. Now, my paycheck goes to Con Edison and Time Warner Cable instead of the ring-toss guy at the carnival. My days of contemplating life’s mysteries at the diner have now been replaced with begging my kids to eat their chicken fingers. Are the best years of my life really behind me? I’ll admit that sometimes I want to go back to those days, but in the end I realize that in order to get where I want to be, I have to move forwards. I think that the best time in anyone’s life is the present because this is where all the opportunities exist. This is the only point in time when you can actually make a change in who you are and what you do. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to appreciate the magic of your life until time edits out the painful parts and leaves you with a soft, warm memory of it.
When that summer of innocence finally came to an end, so did my relationship with Summergirl. I never saw her again, but I’ll always carry a part of her inside of me. There are moments when I hear her laughter as I’m walking down the street or riding the subway, but when I turn, there is nobody there. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I feel that she is still watching over me, just like she did almost 20 years ago. She is timeless in my mind, a free spirit that goes wherever the wind takes her. Wherever you are, Summergirl, I want to thank you for being a part of my life, and I hope you always remain happy and free.
When I was in school I worked during each of my summers. Besides a very brief stint as a supermarket cashier and one as a painter’s apprentice in the Hamptons, I spent all my summers since high school as a lifeguard and swim instructor on Long Island. This was the summer after my first year of medical school and the last of my “free” summers. I had endured Gross Anatomy, but nothing I learned in that class could help me as I approached my class of 6 and 7 year-olds. About a dozen of them huddled together for safety, clutching their towels like they were life-preservers. I gave them a big smile and dove into the pool. Emerging from the peace and quiet of my underwater sanctuary, I blew the water out of my whistle and said, “OK, who’s coming in with me?”
I was working with each of them on their back float, supporting them under the water with one hand and encouraging them to arch their backs. Then, something caught my attention across the pool. Out of the hazy, morning sun, she appeared. Her wavy, brown hair with reddish highlights bounced as she moved. On her wrists, she wore multiple, hand-made bracelets. She smiled and laughed with the freedom of a warm breeze and her face glowed with the radiance of the sun. I was immediately intrigued by this Summergirl, but a splash of water and the sting of a small hand smacking by sunburned chest broke me out of the moment. “How was that, Mister?” “Good, Jimmy”, I encouraged. “Let’s try it again.” I looked up once again, but she was no longer there.
That was a summer I will never forget. During the day, I would walk around the camp and find Summergirl making friendship bracelets or eating lunch with her group. I’d catch her eye and smile, pretending that the encounter was just an accident. My heart would always beat faster when she returned the smile. Those were magical, innocent times, when my entire paycheck would go towards rides and funnel cakes at St. Rocco’s. There seemed to be a different party every night with friends from work or high school. The cool air was always filled with music and felt good against my warm, tanned skin. We would dance for hours while sipping from large cups filled with Coke and Malibu Rum. I feasted on frozen yogurt and scrambled eggs from the diner at midnight. Days off were usually spent at the beach and my hair was as blonde as ever. I spend a lot of time with Summergirl. She was so full of life and energy, and I just wanted to be a part of that. We talked and laughed and flirted with each other. Life was so simple and easy for us then, and I convinced myself that those days could last forever.
But soon, the days began to grow shorter and Labor Day was quickly approaching. I was starting to prepare for the tough school year ahead of me. I kept looking for Summergirl, but it was becoming harder to find her. One night, as I was standing at the waterline overlooking the Harbor, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned quickly and she was there. I was so excited to see Summergirl once again. Our eyes met instantly, but for the first time, I saw a trace of sadness in her smile. I held her in my arms and kissed her soft lips, but just like the sand, she slipped through my hands and faded away right in front of my eyes. Deep down, I knew that this was the price I had to pay for getting so close to an angel.
These days, summer is kind of like winter, only hotter. Now, my paycheck goes to Con Edison and Time Warner Cable instead of the ring-toss guy at the carnival. My days of contemplating life’s mysteries at the diner have now been replaced with begging my kids to eat their chicken fingers. Are the best years of my life really behind me? I’ll admit that sometimes I want to go back to those days, but in the end I realize that in order to get where I want to be, I have to move forwards. I think that the best time in anyone’s life is the present because this is where all the opportunities exist. This is the only point in time when you can actually make a change in who you are and what you do. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to appreciate the magic of your life until time edits out the painful parts and leaves you with a soft, warm memory of it.
When that summer of innocence finally came to an end, so did my relationship with Summergirl. I never saw her again, but I’ll always carry a part of her inside of me. There are moments when I hear her laughter as I’m walking down the street or riding the subway, but when I turn, there is nobody there. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I feel that she is still watching over me, just like she did almost 20 years ago. She is timeless in my mind, a free spirit that goes wherever the wind takes her. Wherever you are, Summergirl, I want to thank you for being a part of my life, and I hope you always remain happy and free.
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