Song Stories

This is the first in a new series of posts. Song lyrics tell stories, both directly and indirectly. Some are very easy to understand: “Oh yeah, his girlfriend died and he took her ashes to the beach and watched the sunrise while playing her favorite song,” while some are more open to interpretation.

There are several songs where I imagine elaborately detailed “music videos” every time I hear them. I know that most of the time what I imagine is not what the artist (or other listeners) had in mind, but I thought I’d share a few and see what happens.


So without further ado, Song Story #1: “We are Young” by fun.


“We are Young” by fun. has been topping the charts all spring. The official music video is a set of slow motion explosions set in a dimly lit bar, a hectic mismash of band shots and stylized chaos. While I don’t know exactly what inspired the story behind the words, this is the story I would tell if I had the chance to direct a new video for this song. (song lyrics in italics) 

A young man sits by himself in a corner of the bar, slowly turning a glass that’s still mostly full. He’s talking to the bartender, who’s only half listening. 


Give me a second I,
I need to get my story straight
My friends are in the bathroom getting
Higher than the Empire State
My lover, she is waiting for me
just across the bar
My seat’s been taken by some sunglasses
asking 'bout a scar, and...


The bartender turns to fill an order and the young man watches a stranger in expensive sunglasses flirt with his lover on the other side of the room. His hands clench around his glass as the man traces the pale pink line beneath her right eye. She turns from his touch and meets his eyes. She quickly looks down and excuses herself from the stranger. The scene shifts...


I know I gave it to you months ago
I know you’re trying to forget
But between the drinks and subtle things
The holes in my apologies, you know
I’m trying hard to take it back...


...to show the couple arguing in a living room. The young man turns from the girl and slams the bedroom door. He pounds the wall and kicks the bed and picks up a vase, spinning manically to throw it towards the door. Just as it leaves his fingers the door opens...she cries out, hands rising to her bloodied face...she backs out, shutting the door, and he stares, falters, crumples to the floor in shock. 

Back in the bar, he watches her return to her seat. The stranger has moved on. They lock eyes and he sings to her, oblivious of anyone else.

So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home...
Tonight
We are young
So let’s set the world on fire
We can burn brighter than the sun


The scene changes back to the house. They sit at the dining room table. He sings to her, but she is looking past him to the photos of her family on the wall.  


Now I know that I’m not
All that you got
I guess that I, I just thought
Maybe we could find new ways to fall apart...

 He’s brought back to reality by his friends’ rowdy return. He and she are pushed together by the crowd.


But our friends are back
So let’s raise a toast
‘Cause I found someone to carry me home

(Refrain)


His friends take up the song of life, love, and youth. He loses sight of her in the crowd, but she appears behind him and takes his hand in hers. She sings to him,


Carry me home tonight
Just carry me home tonight
Carry me home tonight
Just carry me home tonight


During the next verse we see them fighting at home again, and to blow off his anger he takes off running down the street. He sees her face on everyone he passes; he slows, calming down, and returns home.  


The world is on my side
I have no reason to run
So will someone come and carry me home tonight
The angels never arrived
But I can hear the choir
So will someone come and carry me home

(Refrain)

Outside the bar, he whispers the last verses to her as their friends drive off in a taxi. She wraps his arms around his neck and he picks her up, carrying her away down the deserted streets. 

 
So if by the time the bar closes
And you feel like falling down
I’ll carry you home
Tonight. 

Back to their empty dining room, sunlight streaming in through the window, slowly moving up to reveal their wedding photo on the wall. 

Rain

Days like today are why I want to move to Seattle. I’d love for the patter of rain to be a normal, everyday sound, and for sunny days to be the special occasions. Rain has been so rare for the past year that I’m not sure I’ll ever tire of hearing it, watching it, feeling it. Yes, the healing power of rain is also matched by its destructive power, but there is a beauty in that power. 

Given the circumstances...

A resume is a strange thing. My resume is 3 pages* long, but what does that really mean? Does it mean I am well-experienced, well-rounded, or does it mean I move around a lot? Most are part-time or seasonal jobs held around and during school, then a full-time job following graduation, and finally the newest data I added today, against my will. I don’t want to be updating my resume. I don’t want to think of entering that uncertain field again. But despite all that…

“Given the circumstances, we will probably need to lay off about 30% of our full-time employees...” Those words were received by my fellow staff members and I last Thursday. The Wednesday before we had been told it would be 25%. Common sense tells me it will get worse before it gets better, and those in leadership above us have prompted us to be prepared: update resumes. Prepare cover letters. Start looking.

Start looking? Terror strikes my heart at that very idea. I spent 4 months looking...looking…looking. This job has been our saving grace, our answer to prayer, our chance to start again. And now, not even 18 months in, it could all be over?

It is further complicated by the fact that where I work is also where I worship. Do I look for another church job? That means leaving the groups we've come to know, the ministries we've invested in...it would mean so much more than just a new job.

There is no doubt that I am struggling with this. I am resisting reality, telling myself it won’t happen, pretending nothing has changed. But that is foolishness, and I know it. I know God has a plan, but my human heart hates not knowing where that plan will take us.


*(Those 3 include a page for “References” and “Honors and Activities,” which can be removed depending on the employer’s guidelines. Which brings up another odd thought: what other part of my life experience is expendable? To edit the “story of my life” with crossed out sections and notes of “remove,” “unnecessary,” and “nobody actually cares about this, do they?” But I digress.)

Weekend

I struggled with severe jealousy and self-pity this past week. I watched a joyful event play out from a distance, an event I hadn’t been asked to join. It wasn’t that far and I would have gone in a heartbeat, but the lack of invitation brought me up short and I didn’t want to poke and prod with questions of “why not me?” So all week I wallowed. I snapped at Matt and got frustrated at work until finally giving in to tears late Wednesday night. I sobbed my selfish troubles to a husband who was glad to finally find out what the heck was going on.

As the weekend drew closer I tried to distance myself from the updates of social media. Little things came up to help point out that my life doesn’t really suck as much as I felt it did: Friday afternoon at the park, Saturday playing with a new “techie” purchase, Sunday night enjoying the Oscars with my family.

It’s amazing how much energy can be channeled into bad feelings. I spent days feeling like every little thing was the world’s vendetta against me, which is really incredibly laughable. I’m not saying that it’s wrong to get upset about the little things in life, but it is wrong to let those things consume me.

When my mind wanders off to the possibilities of “why/WHY ME?/when/how/HOW SOON?” I can almost feel God gently tapping me on the shoulder and replying, “Why are you looking ahead? And dissatisfied? When will you be satisfied with the here and the now? How are you accomplishing what I’ve given you right now?”

And I sigh, because He’s right (obviously). So I suppose my goal is to work toward not letting negative emotions fester, because festering is gross. (Just say it slowly: Festering. Blech.) Just cry it out, brush it off, and move on. Focus on where I am, what I have and what I can do with it.


Easier said than done, but I’m gonna try.

Valentine...

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “I’d much rather stay home anyway.”

But I knew she didn’t mean it. I could see the pain clearly on her face. Her cap of gray hair shone almost silver against her festive red sweater. Alone all her life, she now has someone who loves her, someone who cherishes her. A true Valentine. And oh, she wanted to them to know. To show that she’s cherished. To walk in on his arm for all the world to see. 

But the banquet that night was for married-couples only. It has started as an open event  - married, dating, engaged- but morphed into a celebration of marriage and marriage only. As wonderful as that is, it was causing her pain. The office staff gossiped about the few couples they knew who were shunning convention and going anyway. But not her. She’d been the topic of gossip enough over the years – why put herself out there for more? It doesn’t matter that he loves her. It doesn’t matter than now, in their later years, they have found joy. They sit close together every Sunday morning. He calls to check on her during the day. Her face lights up at his name. But for this event, this should-have-been celebration, they have been deemed unacceptable, and shut out. 

We close up the office together. Everyone else is gone, preparing for the big night. My husband had to work, so I hadn’t purchased tickets either. We walk together to the parking lot, an empty stretch of concrete between our two lonely cars. 

“We are the only people here!” she sighed again. “What’s wrong with us?”

It’s not us, dear friend. And it’s certainly not you. They don’t see the beauty of your love, the purity of your affection. Your happiness together is not enough for them. He is a widower jut past eighty, and you’ve been single for sixty years. You have found joy in each other through simple companionship. You revel in this new-found affection, and they are foolish who do not see what a wonder it is. 

Don’t let their snub discourage you. Don’t let them damage your joy.  

"John Hofmann, 1952"

This evening I was going through the books in our study and pulling out a select few for “decoration” on the living room shelves. I had just purchased a candles-on-a-tray set and wanted some nice hardcovers to place around it. I pulled out a large blue volume from a lower shelf: The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Oxford Edition. The spine crinkled softly as I opened it and read the two inscriptions: 

“John Hofmann, 1952”

 “To Teal, May 2004” 

I sat down and just held it for a moment. I turned a few more pages to find the publication date: March 1938. 

I never met my grandfather. He died when my mom was only 2. Grandma always had a photo of John on her dresser; a smiling young man in black and white. He loved books, especially science fiction and the many Oz novels by L. Frank Baum. 

In high school I developed a love for Shakespeare – a passion that has never waned. On my 17^th birthday Grandma presented me with the heavy book, my first Complete Works. I read the inscription written in blue ink below and to the left of the original. Her handwriting was elegant and smooth; John’s handwriting in black above it was slightly sharper but still beautiful. Handwriting has already become a lost art. 

Grandma died of cancer two years after giving me the book. I cried for her at our wedding. I cried that she couldn’t be at my college graduation, or my brother’s, or see any of us growing and changing and coming into our lives.  

The book is water-stained in one corner and fraying around the edges, but I cried holding it tonight. I wish I could have known the man that bought that book in 1952. It was probably used when he purchased it, but he kept it and cared for it through the rest of his short life. Then Grandma kept and cared for it and gave it to me 8 years ago. I’m going to keep it and care for it the best that I can.

Snippets

Thoughts that have nothing to do with each other.

Rain
It’s been so long since it has rained consistently that I find myself waking up at night surprised to hear it. A comfort has become a novelty.

Film
“The Descendants” is an exquisite study of grief. Grief is messy, awkward and strange. We make odd choices, cling to strange people and shut out the ones who want to help. Eventually we are able to scrape it together and return to life; a new, unfamiliar definition of normal.

Travel
On a recent trip to the Northwest there was a short time, early in the morning, when the waters of Oyster Bay were perfectly still. No people, no boats, no birds diving for breakfast. A smooth reflection of trees untouched by waves or ripples.

Life
He saved her from a tragedy, and she goes everywhere with him. She is silent, and approaches with a friendly wag, but waits a few feet away until I reach out a hand in greeting. Her back is soft and bony all at once, and her gentle nose nudges my knee. I have never heard her make a sound. It’s almost startling when she appears around my desk or in the hallway, and I think I frightened her once when I gasped. She never stays long, returning to her master’s side. I wish she could tell her story.

Overheard
“It’s the American dream!” said the man with a laugh. “And if you’re American, it’s a nightmare.”

Future
Anticipation is wonderful because something long-awaited is on its way and terrible because it hasn’t yet arrived. Something wonderful is close but all the details haven’t yet fallen into place; I want to rush toward it as fast as possible but don’t want to overlook any important preparation.