I was back in 11th grade, woolen winter coat bundled up to my neck, hands over the heater in my friend’s brand new Pontiac Aztek.
She hit a bump outside of a Hollywood Video and my Frosty—a milkshake dessert from Wendy’s that was much too cold to eat that time of year—spilled its contents all over her dashboard. As I leaned over to wipe it off, an entire pack of Skittles jumped from my lap and poured into the poorly placed heating vent. The smell of new car mingled with the sweet scent of flavored sugar.
Her screeches tore at my ears, but the tears of laughter coming from my best friend in the back seat tempered the situation and soon enough we were all laughing.
The song “Stellar” by Incubus was playing through the car’s speakers.
Earlier that year, in the summer, I stood silent in the dark inside a circle of unfamiliar faces. Most of them wore black hooded sweatshirts. A lot of them were wearing eyeliner, even the guys. The air tasted of bonfire and the mechanical smell of a garage. The pit in my stomach reminded me that it was the kind of night where anything could happen.
I leaned over and flipped a switch, watching as the light on my guitar amplifier burned crimson and bright. I looked to my friends standing next to me, and our singer nodded. We launched into a chant from one of our favorite bands and let the raucous chorus of our instruments drown out the cheering crowd.
The song we played was “Die For The Government” by Anti-Flag.
A year before that, as ninth grade was waning, I ran out of my last test to find the girl I liked. As I was running toward her I saw her grab an older guy’s hand and they began walking down the street. I turned to my friend, who shook his head and then let it drop to his chest. He told me he’d see me at band practice later that day. I went home and let “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls mask the sobbing coming from my bedroom.
Wind the clock back another eight years. A tiny, tow-headed version of me jumped up and down the best I could with a seatbelt on to the sound of Van Halen’s “Jump.” My mom, the first love of my life, roared with laughter and jumped right along with me the whole way to my grandmother’s house.
Scientists are still arguing whether music has a verifiable effect on memory. But those of us whose eyes light up when a song sparks a sudden reminiscence about days long gone already know the answer.
