Cracked open the crate of CDs that I've been hanging on to since the 90s and popped the Squirrel Nut Zippers in my car's player today.
Time machine back to 1997.
August was fading away and blessing me with the kind of magical balmy night that you can't convince me happens anywhere but Tennessee. By my side was a particularly handsome specimen of high school heartbreak and I still thank the Southern summer for memories of his arms in that t-shirt.
The Italian Street Fair was alive with swing music in the park right by Nashville's full-size Parthenon replica.
I'll wait while that sinks in ...
I was falling in love with swing music and summer breezes and love itself. I probably ate cannoli.
When it was over, I floated to my best friend's place on a cloud. I don't remember if I gushed about his smile or if I swore to her that I was going to start dressing like the swing crowd. I hope I told her about his arms.
I know we watched the news.
Princess Diana was being pried out of a car in a tunnel halfway around the world & in my best friend's bedroom, we had a front row ticket. We stayed up all night, waiting for the good news from the hospital in Paris, but we all know how that that turned out. I thought of my other best friend who had already called dibs on Prince William and I knew would be devastated watching the same news.
I'm not sure if I cried, if we tsk'ed at the tragedy from the cynicism of our teenage wisdom. Maybe we just watched quietly. Did we do anything quietly?
I'm furious that I can't remember little details of the days and nights I was so certain I could never forget. Was there anything remotely Italian about the street fair that wasn't on a street? Did I get to enjoy those arms? I'm just going to assume I ate cannoli. I've got to hang on to that damn CD.