THE 30-DAY SONG CHALLENGE Day 04 - A song that makes you sad

Day 04 - A song that makes you sad

This one is involved...bear with me.

I LOVE sad songs. I love the way a sad song can take a moody moment to the next level. I love the way a sad song can push me over the edge emotionally. With that being said, there aren't many sad songs that actually MAKE me sad.

Conor Oberst, a master of morose music, says at the end of his song Poison Oak, "...the sound of loneliness makes me happier." Often, that is the way I use sad songs in my life as well...like lancing a wound. Rather than let a depressing moment linger just under the surface for a long period of time, I just go ahead and pop an unrequited love song on the iPod and wrap myself in the delightful depression being espoused through the speakers. Then, when it's done, I move on to the next thing. One of the saddest love songs I've ever heard, Ryan Adams' Come Pick Me Up, while depressing at first, speaks to me now as an affirmation of the value of "the game of love" even if you're losing.

Every time I've had more poor little girlie heart broken, I've latched onto some sad song. Even now, when I hear Foolish Games by Jewel, I'm transported back to the eighth grade, pining over my first real girlfriend. Obviously, while I can still empathise with that kid and his anguish over rejection, it does seem kind of silly. Can you imagine me trying to conjure up tears over a girl I had been on 4 dates with and maybe passed some notes back and forth between classes? I listen to Jewel's soulful wailing and I can't help but smile a little over the drah-mah of it. In fact, if I were to look back over all the ex-girlfriends and think of all the songs that are attached to them...oh boy, that would make one helluva mixtape. Think "Monster Ballads" but WAY cheesier.

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There is one that still stings though...well actually, now I am going to cheat a bit. This story requires 2 songs. They are both written by Ben Gibbard.  One is a love song, the other a break-up song...both make me sadder than hell.  They both remind me of the one who got away...

All this took place at the end of college. I wrote the first part of the story years ago, while the hurt was still fresh. I guess you should listen to the songs as you read the story...

Two pairs of eyes trained themselves on the broken white line dividing the eastbound lanes of I-85.  The green pair was focused on keeping the tires in close contact with the pavement. The brown was concentrating on avoiding the green. The only sounds came from the radio and the wind as it whistled past the bulk of the SUV. They were hurtling down the road; running headlong into the future, but all he could think about was the past.

Their story was not dissimilar to a bad date movie. He had doted on her for years. She had kept him at a distance but not too far. They had finally made a go of it and now they were about to go their separate ways.  As he pondered the timeline, he wondered if anyone did anything original anymore. He also wondered how many awkward goodbyes would be said in the hourly parking lot of Hartsfield International Airport that day. He played the song he had played the first night. He wanted to immerse himself in the glory of the melancholy mood.

Tears began to cloud the vision of her sharp, green eyes. The yellow specks that surrounded her pupil shone like distant stars. A single tear defied its progenitor and slipped down her freckled cheek. He allowed himself a single glance in its direction as she slammed her hand on the dial.  Now the only sound was the wind.

For the first time in an hour, her eyes left the road. They searched out and found his. They pleaded for clemency. This was a ride to an end…mention of the beginnings would shatter the frail confidence that was keeping her from breaking down. He had seen her cry only once before and it had nothing to do with him. It was unsettling then, to see her become vulnerable. It was even more so now. He had always imagined that he would be the only one to mourn the death of their relationship.

He began to rethink the necessity or the current situation. Was there another way?  No, he finally decided. Better not confuse sadness with a willingness to change. To look back now wouldn’t fix anything. The decisions had already been made; all that was left was to play out the ending.

She parked the car. Now the waterworks began in earnest. Through stifled sniffles and sobs she laid out all the reasons that this was the end. Each one was carefully worded and well thought out.  Every aspect of her argument was sound and logical, irrefutable. For one of the few times in his life, he was rendered utterly speechless. He babbled incoherently about fate and circumstance. He mumbled oaths and pledges. She silently shredded his positions with her stare. Finally, his volleys exhausted, he resigned himself the inevitable. He got out of the car. She watched as he unloaded his pack. He reached for her hand. She gave it willingly.

As they walked hand and hand though the corridor, he was suddenly struck by the realization they were both leaving. He had been so concerned with his own departure that he had completely missed hers. For the first time he felt the sharp stab of regret. He squeezed her hand and pulled her toward him. He grasped her gaze and kissed her with purpose, but she was already gone.

When I returned from Europe several months later, she was living in Atlanta in one of those gated condo communities. I made the trek up from New Orleans at her request to put the final period on things...I wanted to look her in the face one more time and try to change her mind. In the intervening months since my departure, alone amongst the masses, in cities and on trains...through all my adventures, I had begun to regret leaving her more and more. I had decided that she was the one and I had fucked up hard! I held out a glimmer of hope that maybe she felt the same way...that she would give me one more chance.

She was late meeting me and I had no access to her building. I had to wait in the rental office for her roommate to come down and retrieve me. It was reminiscent of our study dates in college when I would wait in the lobby of her dorm for an escort to her room. It had never been weird back then, that was just the way things were done. However, in this instance, it seemed demeaning and just served to underscore how much of an outsider I was in her new life. By the time she got home from work, my slim hope had vanished. She wouldn't even look at me as we said our last goodbyes...I regretted coming at all.  She had been gone from the moment we had gotten out of the car at the airport all those months ago.  Not only was she gone, now she had moved on...leaving me standing there, like a child, grasping to hold on to a bubble that had been burst long ago.