Good day fine folks. The sun is out, we may have survived the winter!
This is an outtake from the novel I’m working on, but I quite like it so thought I’d share it with you before throwing it in the trash.
My revelation of the day is that I’m somehow old enough for my memories to be meta. Double-exposed over multiple decades. I was listening to Carole King’s Tapestry this morning. I’m not sure what prompted me to put it on, but it brought me right back to a sunny afternoon in my old flat, listening to Tapestry with Alex, which at the time reminded me of listening to Tapestry on a school trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. I distinctly remember lying on our sofa, aged 32, remembering details of that long coach ride, aged 12, cheek glued to the window, You’ve Got A Friend playing in my Discman, whilst everyone else was singing along to The Backstreet Boys. Maybe on some future day I’ll be listening to Tapestry again, remembering how it felt to listen to it today, in the middle of the mess, which in turn will remind me of listening to it with Alex, and how it surprised me back then to remember listening to it on a long ago coach ride. Surprised me because, listening to it with Alex that afternoon, sun peaking in through the open window, I felt as though I was hearing it for the very first time. As though I couldn’t possibly have listened to it on repeat all the way to Stratford-upon-Avon and home again. As though I didn’t already know every word of every song, every inflection of Carole King’s voice, every detail of the album cover, the way the light shines in through the curtain, her curly hair, those blue jeans, that bare foot, the cat. I can’t even say whether it’s the songs that move me now, or the past lives they evoke. A club sandwich of nostalgia. A tapestry of memories, dare I say it. And still I’m hanging by a thread. Maybe one day I’ll remember listening to Tapestry in the middle of this mess — I won’t remember whether thinking of Alex reminded me of the album or listening to the album reminded of Alex — but I’ll remember how I distracted myself for a while by wondering what it was about him that made me feel as though I’d never before listened to music, born again, a natural fucking woman.
Thank you for reading! Wishing you a happy March. And look out for a mid-month surprise… Lail x
Precisely how songs resonate in memory - the pictures both on & off cover, the places where heard, the people with whom, the way the sun shone on the day, sights on inner landscapes, smells of what we were smoking, tastes of what eating, yearnings & desires - all the synaesthetic qualities.
Under no circumstances will you be throwing this in the trash. I love your writing.