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.
“Jet Pack Blues” by Fall Out Boy
“Don’t you remember how we used to split a drink?
It never mattered what it was, I think.”
Your sister meant the world to me, and strange as it may be, you did, too. Despite being a grade level below me, you were closer in age to me than she was. When we were younger, you were that boy we embarrassed in the hallway. Then, you became the boy who I drove home from school and to basketball practice. It wasn’t until I spent time from you away from her that I appreciated you as more than a little boy.
I heard your hopes and dreams. We talked about the girls you dated; the ones you dumped and the ones who dumped you. I felt the anger boil up when I heard the lies that they told their friends or how they broke your heart. Sometimes, we’d stop to grab a burrito before I dropped you off. What was the harm?
You had it better than your sister, you claimed. Instead of receiving hatred from your parents, you got nothing. You were the very definition of a middle child. Your parents were so focused on chastising her and spoiling your youngest brother that they put you on autopilot. Never complaining, you were quick to credit your sister as the family martyr.
Still, that lack of attention manifested itself. Like your sister, you spoke in pure humor. You avoided emotions as if you were playing dodgeball. The only time I know you cried was when you told me your sister left. We were on the phone; I doubt you know I could hear it in your voice.
No matter how you try and hide it, your feelings will find a way to make themselves known. Your sister was your rock. It’s okay to miss her.
And it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to talk to people who care about you. Don’t try and tell me that no one cares. I can’t explain what I feel about you, but one thing is for certain, I care about you.
“Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell
“Just call my name, I’ll be there in a hurry.”
We always joke that you are like my second mother, despite the fact that you are six months older than me and a man. When we met each other, we were both going through a rough time. You were a small, birdlike youth with glasses that made you look like Chicken Little. I was even shorter and odder looking, with hair that put Hermione to shame. What a pair we were.
We were our own Island of Misfit Toys, with a rotating cast of extras. Other friends came and went, but we were a constant. Not even your deepest, darkest confession split us up:
“I’m gay,” you said.
“Oh yeah, I know,” I replied.
“That doesn’t change anything?”
“Why would it?”
My friendship wasn’t shaken, though it would be tested. Our high school was in a conservative part of town, and you were the first one to come out of the closet. Insults were hurled at you and at me, for associating with you. A true Gryffindor, you never let it get to you. You were unabashedly yourself. I never told you the things I heard about when you bleached your hair, when you pierced your ears, or when you started carrying a purse. The only time you found out was when I decked that guy who called you a rhymes-with-maggot. I didn’t care what people said about me, but you? No one can say a word against you.
You, the one who held my hair when I vomited from the anxiety of eight AP classes. You, my greatest ally. You, my closest friend. No matter who else is in my life, you have a special place in my heart.
That’s why it hurts that you don’t take my calls anymore. You’re busy. I get it. I am, too. It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have the constant reminder of the presents I bought for your birthday and Christmas, wrapped and waiting to be wanted.
I’d do anything for you, and I’d like to think you’d do the same.
“I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” by My Chemical Romance
“You sing the words, but you don’t know what it means to be a joke, another line without a hook.”
You weren’t the friend I expected to make. It was the Fourth of July, and our friend’s parents were throwing a block party. We were acquaintances for years before that, but in truth, I never paid you much mind past thinking that you were hilarious and your hair made you look like a male Nymphadora Tonks. We had just finished our junior year of high school, and a friend hurt my feelings again.
The party kept going when I went to find some solitude. No one followed me. At least, that’s what I thought. I was sitting on a neighbor’s driveway silently crying and watching the fireworks when you plopped down next to me. You didn’t say anything at first. You just sat with me, and that was enough.
When it was time to speak, I did the talking. Like word vomit, I told you everything. About how one of my best friends had hurt me. About how I had hurt her. About how I felt like I let my friend down when I did the best I could have. You listened. You held me while I cried. Then you told me to get over it.
As if to punctuate your words, a firecracker went off right at your feet. You fell on top of me, and we rolled down the lawn for what felt like forever. We couldn’t stop laughing, and I don’t think we ever did. Every time I’ve needed you, you came through for me, whether it was to listen to my problems or to distract me from them.
When I started college and you couldn’t, you never held it against me. You stayed my friend after everyone else left or moved on. During finals when I felt like I was suffocating, you were always up to grab a bubble tea or to go see that new Beauty and the Beast remake “with the sexy Gaston.” Most importantly, you were there for me.
I’ll never forget that day during my senior year of high school when I got below a fifty on my chemistry exam after studying harder than I ever had before and thought I wouldn’t graduate. We went to Waffle House after school. When we were done eating, neither of us were ready to go home and face our lives, so we sat in the parking lot. You asked for the AUX cord, and I obliged. The raucous sounds of My Chemical Romance filled the tiny car. You kept encouraging me to tell people how I felt, to let it out. At the top of our lungs, you helped me admit that I was not okay and that it was okay not to be okay.
Thank you.
