lovely sad.

“Value your selves, and men despise. You must be proud, if you’ll be wise.”

“So you must really like music,“ I said, looking back at the stacks of CDs. “Don’t you?” he replied, switching lanes. “Sure,” I said. “I mean, everybody does, right?” “No,” he said flatly. “No?” He shook his head. “Some people think they like music, but they have no idea what it’s really all about. They’re kidding themselves. Then there are people who feel strongly about music, but just aren’t listening to the right stuff. They’re misguided. And then there are people like me.” I just sat there for a second, studying him. He still had his elbow out of the window and was sitting back in his seat, his head just brushing the ceiling above him. Up close, I was realising he was still kind of intimidating, but for different reasons. His size, yes, but other things, too-like those dark eyes and wiry forearms, plus his intense gaze, which he now turned on me for a moment before directing his attention back to the road. “People like you,” I said. “What kind of people are those?” He hit his indicator again and began to slow down. Up ahead, I could see my old middle school, a yellow school bus pulling out of the parking lot. “The kind who live for music and are constantly seeking it out, anywhere they can. Who can’t imagine a life without it. They’re enlightened.” “Ah,” I said, like this actually made sense to me. “I mean, when you really think about it,” he continued, “music is the great uniter. An incredible force. Something that people who differ on everything and anything else can have in common.” I nodded, not sure what to say to this. “Plus there’s the fact,” he went on, making it clear he didn’t need me to reply anyway, “that music is a total constant. That’s why we have such a visceral connection to it, you know? Because a song can take you back instantly to a moment, or a place, or even a person. No matter what else has changed in you or the world, that one song stays the same, just like that moment. Which is pretty amazing, when you actually think about it.” It was pretty amazing. As was this conversation, so wholly unlike anything I could or would have ever imagined. “Yeah,” I said slowly. “It is.” We drove on for a second, in silence. Except for the chanting. “What I mean to say,” he said, “is yes. I like music.””