The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com.
If People Were Songs by Allison Hambrick
Shuffling music can lead to some interesting results; each song is a memory, and each memory is a person. Like songs, people have layers, and every relationship is layered with the complexities of the two involved. Within the span of three minutes, a song can conjure every emotion you’ve ever felt. My iTunes account is a veritable scrapbook, and each song reminds me of the people who’ve touched my life and the things I wish I could say to them.
“Bulletproof” by La Roux
“All you do is fill me up with doubt.”
It started off innocent. We met at church, for goodness sakes. You stuck out like a sore thumb, never having gone to church before your sister dated a Baptist. We were the same age, which in a small congregation means you have to do everything together. I used to hold my breath as I entered the Fellowship Hall and cringe internally when I saw you.
Picking on me seemed to be your favorite past time, whether it was chasing me down the hallways yelling “the British are coming” in mockery of my speech impediment or stealing French fries off of my plate whenever we went on a youth outing. I remember the rage I felt when you stole my number off of my friend’s phone; I briefly considered blocking your number.
The worst of it was yet to come; you embarrassed me. Before Wednesday night church, we would sit around listening to music, remember? One such evening, I was waiting to go up onstage to lead worship, when a familiar opening line rang out. “Love me like a bomb. Baby, come and get it on,” followed by you calling out my name and the rest of our youth group erupting into laughter. You never apologized, but I forgave you a long time ago.
I tried to avoid you after that, but like a nasty case of athlete’s foot, you just kept coming back. I went through the motions, with an Oscar-worthy performance of disgust, but being the tumor that you are, you grew on me. I found myself looking forward to texts from you or your ridiculous greeting of “Hey, hey, All-ey” followed by an arm around my shoulder.
As you already know, high school changes things, and our “friendship” was no exception to that. We went to different schools, led different lives, as we had before, but it was different somehow. Your flirting game improved tenfold, but there was a newfound aggression to everything you did. Overconfidence was the only language you spoke. I stuck with you through insults, unwanted Snapchat propositions, and copping a feel at the fair because sometimes there would be a hint of who you really are.
I always answered your call no matter how late it was or in one case, if it was in the middle of class. Most of the time, you kept the conversation light, telling me about girls you knew to try and get a rise out of me. After a while, your voice would crack and so would your façade. You would start to open up, to tell the truth. About your sister. About your dad. About your mom. You cried the time you told me that you hit her.
Remember that day we were supposed to go to the movies? Ant-Man was sold out, and you didn’t want to see Paper Towns, so we opted to go for a drive. It was my car, but you drove. The later it got, the more I wanted to leave. I asked you to turn around, and you refused. In the middle lane of Cobb Parkway, I shifted into park.
“Are you crazy?” you questioned.
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
“I want to go home without leaving your sorry self on the side of the road.”
You turned around so aggressively that I smacked my head into my passenger side window. After we got to your house, I stayed for a bit to ice my bruised temple, which you attempted to pin on me instead of owning up to it. We went in circles. Your fault, my fault, what did it matter? According to you, I needed to let loose, and you had waited long enough for me to let you do whatever you want. This time, you apologized, but I was already out the door.
You weren’t a bad person. No one else would listen to you. You didn’t mean those things you said. I knew you didn’t want to hurt me. You acted the way you did because your dad acted the way he did. I was young, and you were, too. We had time.
That’s why I never did what you wanted me to do. Like Hitch, you’d try going ninety to see if I would go the other ten, but I never did. I don’t want to regret that, but sometimes I do. I knew it wasn’t right. I knew we weren’t right. It broke my heart, not because I loved and lost but because I didn’t love you. Not in the way you wanted or in the way you needed. I wanted to; maybe I thought I did. I didn’t know. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I still care, even though you decided you don’t. I know that I will answer any of your calls. I know that, though we’ve grown up and apart, sometimes we still need each other. It breaks my heart to talk to you. Every time, I say things will be different. Every time, I decide I’ll be fine, that nothing will hurt me. I’ll be bulletproof.
But I never am.
“When You Were Young” by The Killers
“He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus, but he talks like a gentleman, like you imagined when you were young.”
There was a time, however brief, when I called you my sister. We did everything together, back before bra sizes replaced braces as our biggest concern. You were shy, awkward and gawky. I was your shorter, ruder double. Think Lizzie and Miranda, except we were less well-manicured and didn’t have Disney Channel broadcasting our life story.
Then you got a boyfriend. Not just any boy, either. The boy you picked was a loud, uncouth redneck who your mom hated. He lived across the street from my neighborhood, which meant that you often came over to meet him behind your mother’s back. You made me complicit in your wannabe Romeo & Juliet fantasy. I lied to your mother and mine. What did I get in return? A best friend so preoccupied with her boyfriend that I didn’t matter anymore. My jealousy was selfish and immature, but at fourteen, so was I. Soon enough, you stopped coming over at all.
He dated you for over a year. He dated her at the same time.
I can’t say I didn’t see it coming. I can say I hoped that you would see the light before it got worse. He didn’t tell you. She did. You didn’t break up with him right away. No, you kept dating him. She was a liar, you claimed. We both know you didn’t believe that, and sure enough, he betrayed you again. It should have healed our friendship, but it served to divide us further.
You found a new crowd. The same crowd that hurled insults my way and dumped their McDonald’s sweet tea on the hood of my car. I didn’t take offense; I knew what you had been through. Sometimes, all we need is space. It’s safe to say you got by with a little help from your friends. Not the friends you met at school, but friends like Mary Jane, who they introduced you to. A few new boyfriends migrated in and out of your life, some worse than others.
All I thought I wanted at the time was to help you, but I really wanted things to go back to how they were before. How naïve of me to discount you that way. You were still you, after all. Growing up sometimes means growing apart. I don’t begrudge you your choices, but I can’t help but wonder how different things would be if you had listened to your mother.
Older but not wiser, we still talk. On occasion, we’ll catch a concert together or grab a cup of coffee, but like the sword of Damocles, our choices hang over us. You once admitted that you treated me the way you did because of him, because of how he hurt you. I forgive you, just like I did at the time. We will never be what we once were, but why lose you over a guy? Like so many girls before you, you allowed love to blind you when you were young.
“Everlong” by The Foo Fighters
“If everything could ever feel this real forever … “
Aside from my family, you are the person who’s been in my life the longest. Fifteen years, to be exact. My former neighbor, my first friend, the boy next door. You always annoyed me. Since your sisters and my sister were close in age and so were we, our parents traded playdates. Afternoons were full of watching Teen Titans, rolling your hamster down the stairs, and playing on your playground, which we now know is on top of a gas line.
The older we got, the grosser it was for a boy and a girl to be friends. We were pushed apart by classmates, and we didn’t fight it. The extent of our interactions became the twenty-minute bus ride from our elementary school to our neighborhood.
You moved away after we started middle school. Good riddance, I decided, not realizing how much I would miss you. Days spent dodging bullies. Nights spent crying myself to sleep. All I wished for was my friend. I found a few, yeah, but they weren’t you.
In high school, we found each other again. The peer pressure subsided, and boys weren’t icky anymore. We ended up having nearly identical schedules, partners in class and partners in crime. You were the Ron to my Kim, or perhaps the other way around, and I enjoyed every minute of it. We were on the same page about everything except The Foo Fighters being better than Nirvana. So why didn’t you just ask me? I know you wanted to.
We had a good friendship, one that sitcoms always try to replicate. A friendship that neither of us wanted to lose, but were tempted to risk. In the end, we were right not to taint what we have. I like to smile when I think about you. I like to remember the good times as just that: the good times. No heartbreak or hurt feelings or shattered expectations. So why didn’t you ask me? Perhaps because you knew I would say yes.
