Day 17: Boom Box

In high school, music influenced how we talked, dressed, acted, who we formed friendships with. For most of high school, I didn't listen to music. I've always wondered if my lack of musical interest is why I floated between groups, becoming acquaintances with many, but never finding my place, never finding a group of people I'd consider close friends.

Growing up, I always listened to whatever music my brother, who was four years older than me, was into. As a result, my music choices were never the same as everyone else my age, which, along with many other odd personality quirks, rendered me an outcast. In fifth grade the other students started calling me Alanis Morissette as if it were an insult. By the time I was in high school I had gone through a phase of listening to just about every type of music--rap, hip-hop, alternative, classic rock, boy bands, pop music, classical. I had learned to lip sync or hum along to every genre except country and no longer cared for any of it.

Half-way through high school I got my first job working at a fast food restaurant around the corner from my house. The shop, known for its 17 flavors of boneless and bone-in chicken wings, was located between a liquor store and a bar. The cast of characters who frequented the take-out restaurant, and who worked within, were enough to keep me entertained every Saturday night. I have retold stories from the restaurant for years after it suddenly shut down. To this day, I still brag about how it was the best job I've ever had.

Saturday nights were always busy. After hours of frenzied food flipping, when the phone finally ceased its constant ringing, the guys in the kitchen would turn up their music and start scraping scalded sauce from the metal stove, scrubbing pans, wiping down counter tops, and mopping the floor.  Neil always brought death metal to blast louder than the karaoke coming from next door. The rapid drum rhythms, guitar riffs, and unintelligible lyrics grew on me.  When I admitted how much I enjoyed the music, Neil burned me two CDs, a compilation of his favorite bands. When I was angry, I'd blast death metal into my headphones and speed walk around my city for hours.  At home, I'd sit on my bedroom floor, creating crafts with my hands while playing his CDs from the stereo pictured above.

I didn't find out that Neil had a heart condition until he died of a heart attack at a death metal concert less than a year after Wings closed its doors. He was in his twenties. After his death, I slowly stopped listening to his favorite bands. They brought back too many memories and I wasn't yet in a place to process the pain.

Influenced by my fiance, I started listening to music from the early 90s. When he was deployed to Iraq, I let the music drown out the sound of my anxiety-laden thoughts. It's no wonder that the incessant song spinning eventually caused the CD player to stop working. I held onto the boom box because the tape player and radio still worked just fine. I've since replaced it with a much smaller, portable player that serves the same function. The old boom box will be joining the box of broken electronics at the dump this weekend.