What's in a Song?

Nonfiction Freewrite: Sensory. Write of an important song, but without naming the song or lyrics. 

Each time that first moment of the song registers within my mind, I am flooded with a sense of nostalgia, joy, and genuine happiness that I can’t otherwise tap into. It feels as though someone has taken ahold of my heart and given it a squeeze, and then tugged on it until I feel like I should be hutched over. When I’m feeling particularly emotional, I get that telltale lump in my throat warning me of tears, and I clear it. My grandma sang this song to me. We could be snug in her king size covers while I drifted off to sleep, or while I sat in her arms on the bench swing in her back yard, or as I curled in her lap in her favorite rocking chair. I can smell her perfume when I hear it, one of those ones that old ladies try to sell to you in Dillard’s from that bumpy, glass bottle. And I can hear the way her voice would crack just enough for me to notice when she sang the word “dear”. I remember sitting in my kitchen, singing along with her before I’d leave for school, or while I did homework. It was the first song that I sang as a child, strapped into the built-in car seat in the back of her green minivan that I called a beetle. My mother tells me about it. They’d flip through radio stations until I’d seem satisfied from my seat back there, but one time when I wasn’t paying attention, those words passed through my lips and I repeated them until we pulled up the uneven driveway.     

It’s still my favorite song, and it still makes it onto some of my playlists tailored for mornings or relaxing evenings. My grandma isn’t the only person I associate the song with anymore. It’s how I sheepishly confessed how I felt for a love interest, and the next line is one that I’ll never be able to un-hear. It’s a quote on a sign in TJ Maxx that will always make me smile, and a potential jab into the side should misfortune take place.     I hold this little, simple bit of music dearly and I love it as much as I love the people associated with it. It’ll never leave me. Whether my memory or those few people do or not.