Leave Unsaid Unspoken
I think that music speaks to us. I believe that iTunes’ shuffle feature sometimes knows just what you didn’t even know you wanted to hear. I have had days and nights where Pandora read my mind and played just what I wanted to hear right after the song crossed my mind.
Kyle and I have this tradition of driving around aimlessly (but really, we follow the same path, more or less) and listening to country music. Sometimes he’s in control and he picks songs to send me a message. Sometimes it’s Pandora that does the encoding. Sometimes it’s just the radio. We have this song that mysteriously plays at the weirdest times. “That’s What I Love About Sundays” by Craig Morgan. It was popular when we were in HS (when we started our tradition) and somehow became our little song. The last four or five times I’ve wanted to be mad at him, it came on Pandora or the radio. The last time he owed me a huge apology, it played on Pandora. On my birthday, he heard it on his way to work. The instances of this happening go back a long way. Coincidence? Doubt it. That song has all kinds of lyrics, but all he and I ever hear is “You love that guy/girl. Do something to say so. Right now.”
Last night a sickly cop came over just to cuddle and nap before work because I had infected him with my germs and he wanted to blame me (and nap on my comfy couch, I think). He dozed off (the twitching gave him away) and just when he’d fallen asleep, the song I’d been listening to over and over and associating with him came on. Uncanny. He slept through all the words, but I was silently singing along. Damn music, always knowing what’s right. I don’t want that stupid song to be the truth. I want the miraculous sequence of events that results in the surprise ending. That happens in real life, right?
