#thisismusic

When you're pining for a certain perky, angel-haired cheerleader, you listen to sappy shit like this.

Mom wanted this played at her funeral. Don't ask me why she already knew which song she wanted at such a young age. Maybe, like me, she knew her life was in my pop's hands. Not able to leave him (though she tried a couple of times) she resigned herself to dying for him. I was angry with her for a long time before I understood what would cause someone to ignore all of the red flags. Those silly, stupid love chemicals are... strong.

Anyway, one night after our bed time story, she asked me what was the one song I loved most, the one I would want played at the end of my life. I remember feeling unsettled by her question. It was a bleak thing to think about, especially at my age. It didn't scare me though, because I thought we were just playing another variation of the question game. Sometimes, the game got deeper than others. I told her, without hesitation, "Free Bird." Her smile looked tired then, and she leaned forward to kiss my head. "That's a great one, Eddie. Mine is Dust in the Wind."

The preacher refused to play it when my pops and I met with him before the funeral. Said it was "too rock and roll for the house of God." Which was completely asinine, because the song literally references a verse from the bible. I think they finally settled on "I'll Fly Away" as the closing song.

I brought my boombox and mom's old Kansas tape. I snuck it in my pop's trunk, and when we got to the grave site, I carried it with me. I set it off to the side, just underneath the canopy that haloed my mom's casket and the guest seats. The preacher eyed me hatefully during the graveside service. But I waited until he was done, and it was over. My mom raised me to respect preachers. And then I walked over to the boombox, struck the button, and let that fucker play as loud as it would go. I held it up in the air, skyward, so mom could hear.

She's desert sand and tropical sea