Medicinal Music

N’Sync told us “Bye, bye, bye” as we played in the river and I told them “Yes please, do leave”. Which they kindly did a few years later. It was somewhat of a tradition of ours to loudly listen to Brick House by the Commodores when arriving at our of our All-Star games. That song has been buried in my mind in connection to a lot of lost friends and great baseball games. It’s a bit of a bittersweet memory. As I lost my ability to play baseball, I also lost many of my friends because baseball was our only connection, but I still remember all of our great games together. Even though it came out after we moved, “Blurry” by Puddle of Mudd became a sort of theme song for my childhood and pops up more often then any other song. It isn’t a song I listened to often or even liked very much but it seems to fit with my hazy memories.

I have a notoriously bad memory, so most of what I remember, I believe, is due to music and my ability to absorb sounds and never forget a song. You see, my memories without music start only a few years ago, probably five, due to a lovely little concussion. The one thing that survived my mind’s reboot was music and the specific memories attached to those songs. My strongest connection to my home and my childhood is music. Much of it is horrible music from the 90′s which are made infinitely better by the context of the events at the time. For example, I clearly remember climbing the tree in our backyard and while I picture that in my mind The Offspring explain to me their perfect day via One Fine Day. The tree was immense, in proportion, and we would spend hours in it devising plans for our epic tree fort which sadly never came to fruition. It seemed I spent more time above ground then on ground thanks to that tree and the red trampoline we eventually sold to a friend.

Not everything I remember was as large and obvious though. I remember our cobblestone driveway and how I would wonder why no one else in the neighborhood had cobblestone. I remember the house had an inconspicuous green door but after we left those bastards who moved in afterwords painted it red and paved over the driveway. They painted our door as if it were theirs as if it meant nothing to me. Of course I never got to know them, I never even spoke to them. Why would I want to when they are the sort of people who would willingly and probably excitedly, pay money to tear me from my childhood home. The gall they had to buy our house, my home, and change it to their liking always made me angry.

I mentioned the Commodores before because they were always present at an important baseball game, but they weren’t the only ones. Baseball has had almost as big an impact on my life as music and its not surprising that they connect in my mind sometimes. I played baseball for nearly 14 years, giving up on soccer and basketball to pursue it more aggressively. Towards the end of my career, when I was about 16, Three Days Grace became a common soundtrack to my rides to practice which was sometimes five days per week. Every game was important then, we were told people were starting to watch us and keep track of our progress. We grew out of the novelty of the Commodores and each had our own music to prepare us for the games. This was around the time my life started to turn downwards in the happiness scale everyone apparently has in their head. It felt like my whole life revolved around baseball and while I enjoyed playing it more then pretty much anything else, I also felt it as constricting me. Everyday after school I would be summoned to practice which often lasted over two hours. After practice I would just collapse at home and struggle through my homework, hoping we wouldn’t have many games during the weekend so I could play with my friends. I dislocated my shoulder for the first time when I was 17. It tore three ligaments, one of which snapped in half completely. Unfortunately it was my throwing arm, so I was almost instantly finished with baseball. All at once the thing that my life seemed to revolve around stopped and I had no idea what to fill the empty space with. When I think about what happened to my shoulder that first time, there is no music. All I can remember is the horrible helplessness of an uncontrollable arm, it’s still something I’m desperately afraid of.

The second and third dislocations were less dramatic though plenty traumatizing, nothing really braces you for the sudden inaccessibility of a limb. Dislocation number two happened while I was swimming laps and certainly surprised me, as well as the other people trying to enjoy the pool. The third simply snuck up on my while I was sleeping. I woke up at four A.M. trying to understand why I was yelling. I quickly realized I wasn’t actually yelling, that was just the voice in my head expressing his confusion, so I remedied the situation by letting out a howl and heading to the hospital. I think being torn from baseball, essentially my life, in one quick moment was incredibly hard for me. Even though I was starting to lose the enjoyment of playing, I still wanted to have the opportunity. I faintly remember waking up in the hospital for the third time. I was groggy due to the drugs and everyone around me was laughing because I was apparently telling stories while my conscious mind was shut down. It’s hard to explain but I felt like I heard music, though I’m certain there wasn’t any playing. I wasn’t sober enough to be playing music in my head, yet I felt the Red Hot Chili Peppers in my mind and I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason I can recall that event. I can’t remember waking up either of the other times I went to the hospital.

I’ve changed so much since I lived in our old house and had my accidents that I use the few memories I have as a way to learn from myself. When I lived there I was active in three sports, I had more friends then I knew what to do with, and I was a generally happy kid. Now I no longer have the ability to play two of those sports and I have no desire to play the third. I have four friends, though I couldn’t possibly ask for better ones, and I rarely talk to anyone else. I was diagnosed with depression a couple of years ago, whatever that means, and have learned to deal with it. The only thing that has stuck with my through the years is music which has always acted as my conduit to anything outside of my comfort zone. I start conversations through music and avoid them the same way. It helps me remember who I was and in many ways shapes the way I will be in the future. My connection to music began when I was a child in my home and music hasn’t been turned off since.

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