Today is Thesaurus Day. Thanks to our local "play what we want" station I was treated to songs vaguely surrounding this theme as I dropped off child at daycare and husband at work. Several musically unrelated songs played while several topically unrelated thoughts swirled through my head. Should I buy a thesaurus or use the ones online? What will I make for dinner tonight and when will I make dinner since I have to fit in a crowning at the dentist and then pick everyone back up again around 5pm? Will we be able to make it to the library for story time tonight or should I just let it go? Then a sound from my childhood stopped my random questioning. Meatloaf.
Oh, Meatloaf. I must confess my first thoughts were centered on your career. Who thought you would be a marketable talent? Your voice is interesting, but not really...well, good. You mostly hit the notes you set out to sing. And you aren't the most attractive man on the planet. You aren't ugly, but I don't think there are many ladies out there who think, "I wanna get with that!" while reading your liner notes. Is it because you are everything we don't expect - A large, not-really-attractive man with a mediocre voice, receding hairline and strange clothing choices instead of a teenage heart throb with shiny hair, a clear voice and a personal stylist? Are you so different from what the world was experiencing when you hit the stage that you were welcomed with open arms for your normalness? I don't know and I'm not planning on doing any research, but I am curious.
As "Took the Words Right Out of My Mouth" continued, I thought back to late middle school/early high school when I was introduced to Meatloaf. One summer, I headed to Terre Haute, IN to visit family. My cousin, Jeremy, and I had been super close when we were little. We thought if we could just get married, we could play all the time wouldn't have to go home at the end of our visits. When we realized that wasn't the best idea, we understood that we would have to cram more into our time together. We laughed and played and toilet papered our grandmother's trees. We took bike rides, ate ice cream cones at the Charbell and blinked in fascinated horror as our grandmother released a string of curse words one morning during breakfast at all five of her grandchildren. Oh the memories.
But this visit was a bit different. We were both on the edge of young adulthood. We wanted to be buddies like we'd always been but now we weren't quite sure how. We remembered how much fun we'd had but didn't know how to start it up again. Luckily for us, Jeremy's church youth group came to our rescue.
One evening we were informed we would be hanging out with some of the kids in youth group. Seeing as we were bored and the idea of hanging out with older kids seemed pretty awesome, we agreed. When the 2-door sedan stopped in front of my Aunt and Uncle's house, we squeezed into the backseat and tried to act cool enough to not be dropped off early.
On some dusty, country road one of the girls up front produced a cassette tape and announced that it was Meatloaf time. Our ears perked up. Did she say, "Meatloaf"? Were we going to listen to songs about dinner-time specials? Was this diner music? Was this a children's album that the cool kids would make ironic and funny? We didn't know it but our worlds were about to be rocked and rolled into a new dimension.
Hairbrushes were found and passed around, tape deck volume was adjusted and the song, "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" came pouring out of the speakers. Confused and slightly awed, Jeremy and I watched the rest of the people in the car dance in their seats to the music and pretend to sing the male and female parts of the song right into their hairbrush mics. If you've never heard this song, please find it, listen to it and be changed. Or if you are like my husband, be disgusted and angry that those five minutes are now permanently gone from your life and grumble whenever the song's title is mentioned.
As the tape was played and rewound, played and rewound, we slowly picked up the lyrics and were encouraged to join in. And join in we did! We thrashed around in time with the music, we crescendoed and decresendoed, we mimicked the words and imagined facial expressions of the teenagers stuck in the song's theme of high school horniness and the need for love and belonging, and most of all, we collapsed into a laughing pile each time the song was over while the tape was being rewound again. Jeremy and I had found our friendship! And then I ruined it.
After the 8th or 9th time we had performed Meatloaf's Opus to teenage hormones and angst, the subject of a local cemetery was raised. This cemetery was a little different. This cemetery was pretty old. This cemetery was haunted. And would we like to go there? Um, yes, please!
As we drove through the dark country roads I was filled in on the most unique characteristic of our destination - its staircase. The cemetery was situated at the top of a hill and the only way to reach the top was by using a steep staircase with 100 steps. The scary part was that you would count 100 steps going up, but only 99 when you came back down to the road below. We contemplated this strange phenomenon and just how very creepy it all was when Jeremy and I decided, or it was decided for us, that we would climb the steps. We were brave, it wasn't that big of a deal, we would count the steps for everyone.
When we arrived, Jeremy and I crawled out of the car, took some deep nervous breaths and began to climb the crumbling concrete stairs. Jeremy was braver and went ahead of me. Slowly we climbed the stairs getting more and more scared as we ascended. About halfway up I had the brilliant idea of abandoning him at the cemetery, not for long, but long enough to scare him. As Jeremy climbed higher, I quietly backed down the stairs, ran to the waiting car, jumped in and yelled, "Go! Go! Go!".
As we drove off I saw Jeremy turn around, come flying back down to the road and begin yelling for us to stop. And damn it, he looked scared. Everyone in the car was laughing, even me. But despite the laughter, I knew I had started the end of our night out and had damaged the emerging friendship that Jeremy and I had rekindled earlier that night.
We didn't leave him on the side of the road for long - maybe 15 more seconds. He was royally pissed at me. I don't think he spoke very much to me for the rest of the night and the rest of my visit was a little strained. But all this happened over 20 years ago (crap, seriously?) Jeremy and I grew up and are now friends again and when I get to spend time with him I wanna go find some Legos or the game of Cootie and sit down on the carpet and play awhile. Jeremy is an interesting guy and fun to be around. But today, when driving home and listening to Meatloaf on Thesaurus Day, I wanted to make a formal apology to my cousin. So, Jeremy, here it is.
I am sorry I left you in a dark cemetery in the middle of the country when we were hanging out that summer. It was very bitchy of me. I'm sorry the rest of the week was not as much fun as it could have been because I acted selfishly and was so desperate to appear cool that I put your trust on the line. I'm glad we put it behind us and are friends again. And I'm glad I share a strange fascination for Meatloaf with you.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
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