Posted by: loripalooza | February 13, 2008

Behind Blue Eyes

Driving to work this morning a song came on the radio that had me simultaneously cranking up the volume and the emotions.  It was a song that changed my life.  Not today, but many years ago…

One Friday or Saturday night in college I was dutifully studying (or more likely sneaking M & M’s from my room mate’s stash one-by-one and looking for anything to do but study), when the opening strains of The Who’s “Behind Blue Eyes” floated up to my top floor dorm room.  Looking for distraction, and being a bit of an impulsive (hyper) young thing, I dashed out of my room, leaping down the stairs and listening floor by floor until I located the source of the music. Second floor apartment: Party!  I knew the guys who lived there (in fact I had dinner there once and Hannah called us from a pay phone at a Who concert so we could hear them….)  so went in, but they were busy, and I found myself standing to the side in the dimly lit room, eyes closed, letting the end of the song wash over me in all its glorious anger and passion.

When I opened my eyes I was going to go back upstairs but I saw a guy I’d met just recently.  We’d spent some time together talking music and school in his room, which was right next to the dorm’s laundry room, so I smiled in recognition and started talking to him.  Only it wasn’t the same guy.  Turns out I’d just met my still-to-be-conceived son’s father, my future ex-husband, the (young and sexy, not bloated and bearded) Jim Morrison look-alike I was apparently destined to meet because of a Who song.

Now I have a son who looks somewhere between the sexy and bearded Morrison, and the marriage to his father ended long ago (and a resounding Hoorah! was heard around the world).  But if it wasn’t for that one song that night, and the subsequent chain of events, good and bad, I wouldn’t be where I am right now, would I? And it’s a good place; a very good place.  So whenever I hear that song I feel sad, and angry, yet grateful all at the same time.

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