Thanks for the music

A couple of days ago, I submitted another of my stories to Rummaging about in my folders, I came across a story I sent them in January, which they didn't use. It was my first attempt at Flash Fiction, telling a story in as few words as possible.

Consequently, it's very short. So you only need a couple of spare minutes to read it.

In case you're interested, the music referred to, in order, is:

"Young Girl" by Gary Puckett

"For Baby, For Bobby" by John Denver

"Who's gonna drive you home?" by The Cars

"Adagio" by Samuel Barber

Music must surely be the most evocative of the arts.

A well-written piece can move you to tears, or make your heart race solely on its own merits, without reference to anything else.

Then there are the links that music makes, its ability to instantly recall a memory, a person, a situation or simply an emotion.

Remember being eight years old, at the fairground with your 'girlfriend'? Remember the record that was playing as you staggered off the Waltzers, fell to your knees and threw up on the grass? Admit it, when it plays on the radio now, so many years later, your ears burn with embarrassment.

Remember the teenage crush who introduced you to music you never thought you'd like? And remember the song you tried to sing along to, your voice breaking with tearful emotion, after she dumped you?

Remember the song they played as a soundtrack to a video about starving children in Africa? A song made famous but essentially ruined because you can't hear it now without seeing the awful images in your mind's eye.

And how about the beautiful classical piece you don't listen to any more since they used it as background music to the video of 9-11. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of your neck and your eyes fill with tears but now for the wrong reasons.

Music is the soundtrack of our lives, the milestones we use to navigate our memories. An innocuous piece can command crippling emotions while a tune you loved can recall situations you hate, and vice-versa.

But the ultimate cruel irony must be, as we look through the viewports at the nuclear flowers blossoming below, the Station's 'happy music hour'  ends with Joe Dolce singing 'Shut uppa your face'

All together now ..

 "What'sa matter, you?"