Never good enough. Not perfect. Catholic school reinforces the flaws, in teaching and in the social aspect of a teen world I didn’t belong in. Weird loner, not unique introvert.
Eighth grade. An ugly nun holds a meeting.
“Why can’t you be more like your brother?” He’s gregarious. She thinks I’m sullen. I pity her not understanding the meaning of introspective.
And yet, I feel bad about myself.
One day, a CD appeals to me during my weekly trip to Sam Goody, where I spend all of my allowance, for years. A red-haired girl hovers inside a box with a tiny piano. I purchase the CD, sound unheard.
She and I become phonic best friends.
She, the daughter of a preacher, also rejects the shame and guilt religion tried to make her out to be. She, a weird creative soul (who sees pink clouds in her head), means now there are at least two of us, which means there are more. She, who uses religious language to make her point, taking the weapon and turning it into actual salvation, helps to turn my thinking around about the way that I am.
I know a cat named Easter
He says, “Will you ever learn?
You’re just an empty cage, girl, if you kill the bird.
Don’t kill the bird.
Let it fly.
This post is part of the Blogging A to Z Challenge. My theme is Musical Memoir. Each Monday through Saturday, I explore personal memories through my love of music, inspired and coordinated by the letters of the alphabet. Join in the fun and participate in the challenge, or leave a comment and enjoy some conversation. Thanks for reading. Peace.