November 15, 2017
The one time I ever visited southern California, I remember feeling inexplicably happy and being okay with not knowing quite why that was so.
My grandma sat in the passenger seat with me in the back and a song came on the radio that I remember being too emotional to listen to before it became popular because it reminded me of painful times and nonexistent realities.
I quietly sang along in the back, gazing absently out the window, never missing a word, bobbing my head to the simple, clean beat. It painted the picture in my mind of a bare apartment in a big city, where I lay on a stiff, leather couch, hearing icy winter breezes tap the window screen, feeling my heart liquefy in my chest because I was wrapped in the arms of my partner who still slept peacefully.
After blinking back into reality, my gaze averted to the ships at the bay, the ferries pulling in to transport people to the island. Still singing along, I heard my grandma turn to the driver and ask what song it was, probably because I was singing it and I obviously liked it.
He confessed to not knowing because he didn’t listen to the radio often. I wanted to intervene but instead decided to just enjoy the quiet moment.
To this day, I still get emotional, unable to listen to the entire song, just this time… for different reasons.